Nov 15, 2010

Girly Dreams & Sparkly Things

Our daily outing landed us in Knightsbridge, home of Harrods- the most decadent department store you could imagine. Last Christmas when Harrods and I were briefly introduced, I was completely dumbfounded. Even the stairwells were crafted from ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs, and other priceless treasures had been scattered about the monstrosity for mere decoration. If you’re looking to spend a few thousand pounds on a hand-painted French antique reproduction of a desk chair, Harrods is the place to go.

A friend was launching his clothing line (AMH) in Harvey Nichols, an upscale store in the area, and Press Day was a perfect way to get the brand out there. Designers had their goods exhibited on swing sets and in huge glass bird cages.

It definitely looked like my kind of party. Stands were set up around the room offering all sorts of treats. A sparkly photo booth spat out glamour shots on hot pink paper. They are so tricky- making you feel beautiful and spoilt while you itch over all the gorgeous clothes you can’t afford. Very tricky. 
I felt a little like a party crasher, blatantly underdressed and over my head. I probably would have just stood there looking awkward, but James grabbed me and had me sit down at the nail table. If you insist! My short, chipped nails resembled a 5 year-old’s and I tried to pick a 'professional' color for a meeting I had the next day. 

It felt like I'd been transplanted in every girl's dream. I couldn’t think of anything I’d rather be doing than be forced to eat and pamper myself. "Another glass of champagne please, thanks very much. False eyelashes? Sure why not!"
The makeup artist whipped out a pair of Shu Uemura lashes made from some sort of bird feather, owl perhaps? Although in the end the boys snickered that I looked 'like a transvestite who’d been out in a snow storm' (thanks- I didn’t ask YOU!) I was happy to get a pair for free.
Feeling like royalty, I floated out of the shop. However the appetizers didn't quite do the trick, so we stopped in a crowded pub for dinner. Manchester United was playing Manchester City in football (soccer of course!) and everyone was in an uproar. Each person had their gaze locked on one of the five screens around the room.

 I've never followed sports, but I love being around people who do. There is something so curious about watching grown men scream, jump, cry and hug eachother fiercely after a goal. Not to say that women don't watch sports, but I think it's a bit more common for us to behave this way ( :
We squeezed into a recently vacated corner and threw our coats around the booth to stake out the territory. A few of the boys fought their way to the bar to order our drinks and, what else but fish and Chips.
Although I’m not the biggest fan of the breaded and fried, there’s something in the food over here that makes everything taste fresh. I loved that my salad lacked the bitter after-taste of pesticides and was obsessed with the sweet peas. For all I knew, the meal had been hand-picked that morning by a sweet little grandma from her country garden and cooked with as much love as possible. Who said England has bad food? Rubbish ( ; It was a nice boyish end to an unexpectedly girly day.