'Tis The Season
Dear Lulu,
Good god. What's the rush? August 9th and Bing was crooning White Christmas piped out onto the street, mystifying those in flip flops and sunglasses. A Santa Claus wrapped in red with a pith helmet and an actual zebra welcomed in the season at the tourist haven/heaven, Harrod's. Christmas had come to Knightsbridge. Their Christmas shop was officially open.
Wait. The semi-annual sales were winding down to '5
items, '5,000 Mulberry bags a steal at '4,500, school
supplies filled shop windows, autumn was only a passing
thought and mincemeat pies were hardly on the horizon.
Christmas stress and pressure a week after the end of
July?
The much trendier department store, Selfridge's, refused
to be out done; they opened their Christmas shop the
very next day. What are they both doing? I thought
Florida was the only place on earth that began the
festive season in the beginning of August; no
explanation required there'.beating sun on balding heads
365 days a year'no surprise there. But where's the
Dickens tradition? Little iced cakes, snow flakes,
mulled wine, Gregorian chants, plaid.
Admittedly, while Christmas in London can be surpassed
by a host of other cities, including New York,
Selfridge's can't be. They do have the most brilliant
objects of extravagance to fill your prolonged season of
merriment. Every year I promise myself only one new
ornament. Promises, promises. Cleverly, I do hold back
until their pre-Christmas half-price sale to rationalise
my indulgence.
I dragged myself to see their new shop first hand, for
research purposes of course. Oh my; a veritable
fairyland. The whole atmosphere was a sort of vortex of
glamorous excess-enticement- entitlement. While the
whole world is in constant chaos, global warming
promises our imminent demise, we have been granted four
months to celebrate the superficial. I wanted to move
in.
The walls were covered in a sort of three-dimensional
plastic hedge, sprayed with a light touch of gold paint,
dotted with tiny, tiny yellow lights. Gold and forest
green flocked wallpaper filled in ' very Victorian meets
post-modern. I crossed my arms to prevent my wallet from
springing opening. I made mental notes: a 4' chartreuse
chandelier bauble in the 'green section' next to the
'blue section' along the wall. I'll be back.
Catering to every taste: the whimsical, the twee, the
handmade, the modern, the graphic, the Victorian, the
trendy, the gauche, the Philip Starke devotees. Whatever
your Christmas mood, Selfridge's is there to satisfy it,
months before you even know what it is. What a relief
when 'I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus' filled the air.
The most gag-reflex producing Christmas song ever
written. Fearing Celine Dion singing Santa Claus is
Coming to Town could be next; I was out like a flash.
Now Harrod's was another Clement Moore story. A monument
to over-the-top; indulgent, flashy, vulgar,
ostentatious, garish, gauche, gaudy, glaring, gold,
glitzy and glamorous. Everyone must go there at least
once. And they do. The aisles were jammed. Their
pre-pre-season Christmas shop was chock-a-block with
people and seasonal accoutrements. I went all woozy with
claustrophobia. Curiously devoid of atmosphere, even
with all those beaded, feathered, flocked, shiny,
twinkling objects of desire. When did stark white walls
elicit I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas?
Hark! All was not lost. Harrod's is offering a new
service as well as Christmas to its well-heeled
customers. The 'Anything is Possible at Harrod's'
initiative in 330 departments from 10 September to 21
October. On offer is: an official dog wedding ceremony'a
cookery lesson with the first chef of the Ritz, Paris'a
bespoke suit made from an actual scan of your body'a '12
food tasting tour through their glorious Food Hall'if
Christmas is becoming just too, too tiresome.
Pity those poor mothers who now have to don elf aprons,
assisting their little ones in baking Christmas cookies
for the next 3 ' months, while being slowly driven mad
listening to All I Want for Christmas is My Two Front
Teeth'. 'I want to lick the bowl!' 'No! I want to!' 'Muuuuuuuummmmmmmyyyy!'
Ho, ho, ho. Halloween must be right around the seasonal
corner.
TTFN,
Maggie xx
About the Author:
Maggie is from Manhattan, where she was a painter, then designer of clothing,
objects, textiles, interiors while writing for various publications and her own webzine.
She is permanently based in London, the city of irony,
where she writes regularly to her gal pal Lulu in New
York.
You can read her amusing tales about London's daily life, people, current events, politics, fashion and culture at her website www.lettersfromlondon.com.
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