Time to do my FOTCR* Shopping. And where better in fair London town than Oxford Street?
Picture the scene, it's less than two weeks 'til the FOTCR. It's 5pm. It's Oxford Street.
Debenhams. No one tries to spray me with perfume. The woman on the cash desk is friendly, but not over friendly.
Clinton Cards. I get everything I need without having to shove anybody out of the way. When I buy a gel pen at the cash desk, the man suggests that I also buy a pen that lights up, and even allows me to try one as I sign my Switch receipt. He doesn't press the case.
HMV. I get what I'm looking for. The woman at the cash desk, who is pleasant, points out that the DVD is a BOGOF, and directs me to where I can get another, effectively for free. I return to the cash desk and the man who serves me is pleasant.
Books Etc. I get what I'm looking for, and the woman at the cash desk does not hand me my purchase in a carrier bag until I have placed my purse in my handbag and securely fastened my handbag.
Marks and Spencer. I moan slightly that their Per Una range doesn't quite cover my size but I try a top on anyway and actually it fits, but it's not me. I try two other tops, in different sizes, as it happens. One fits better in one size, the other in another. They're not very expensive. The woman at the cash desk is very pleasant.
Upstairs to the men's section where they are showing the highlights of Italy v Brazil from the 1982 World Cup and even provide sinky sofas to enable the watching of it. A young man helpfully shows me where to find what I'm looking for. They have the size I want in a colour better than I was looking for. I return to the same man on the cash desk and he is very pleasant, wishing me an enjoyable evening.
Not once did any of the Chip-and-Pin machines let me down.
In my perambulations up and down Oxford Street and in the shops no one jostled me, no one got in my way. Nowhere was the music so loud or so dreadful that it interrupted my thinking.
I crossed Oxford Street and a bus came immediately. It did not get stuck in any traffic jams and I never once had to share my seat with anyone. No one talking loudly, no one had their Walkman blaring. No one was eating Kentucky Fried Rat.
What is it with these people? I can't even get a decent rant out of a December trip to Oxford Street.
*Festival of the Cash Register (nicked from Ebenzer Lyle)
