Continued...
Lonely as I was in London, there were three people that enabled my little shopping expeditions to acquire all the beautiful dresses, shoes and bags. And candles. And stationary. And scarves. Did I mention the dresses? All of which were acquired, over a period of about two years (2006 — 2007) to make my life richer and more aesthetically pleasing and to impress the socks off anyone with an eye for fashion.
The first was a work colleague and friend called Sarah. She was my only work friend really at the time, since I pretty much hated work. She was from Sydney and therefore escaped the grim feelings that I had toward everything and everyone from the mud island. And she did like to shop. We would set out after work once or twice a week. Heads down into the cold and biting wind that swept across Berkeley Square where we worked. We would point ourselves toward neighbouring Bond Street (Smythson, Jimmy Choo, Reiss, Fenwicks), or funky Dover Street, or Curzon Street (DvF, Stella, DKNY) or up toward Oxford Street (Topshop, Zara, H&M, M&S, New Look, Gap, French Connection) or to the Regent Street versions of the same stores, just for a change in scenery. We would often stop for a drink at one of the many pubs or even go for some tea at Liberty or Selfridges. But it would always be dark by the time I made my weary way home, back up to north London on the tube, bulging packages cutting deep ridges into my palms.
My BFF Philippa was my Biscester Village shopping companion. A cornucopia of outlet shops nestled deep in the Oxfordshire countryside — a couple of miles from where she lived — was the destination and always made a visit to the country a little more fun. We would wind through the narrow lanes in her wee car, and with clear strategy in mind. No fannying about for us. It was park and head straight for Jimmy Choo. Stop in at Ralph Lauren, Mulberry and LK Bennett before finishing up at Temperley London. A quick cup of steaming hot chocolate from the onsite Starbucks and we would go back to her house for long, lazy afternoons of showing off our new gear and totting up how much money we had saved. I say we, but of course you know by now that I really mean me.
And finally I mean no such thing when it comes to my cousin Karen. She lives way down south in Wimbledon and we shared a very similar approach to the shopping experience. We also share taste. And DNA, to be fair, since we are related. Plus I adore her company and miss her terribly. And so a day down south with cuz always included a bit of a stop in Wimbledon Village for Whistles, DvF at Matches and Joseph. We would talk and drink coffee and eat and amble along the narrow pavements, the sun peeking out every now and again. We would agree just to look. Just to try it on to see. Just to get the one, because it is a classic and one could always use another obi belt/sling back shoe/tunic dress/wrap dress/etc. And so we would spur each other on and land up back at hers with a sleeping baby and several new acquisitions.
And so my wardrobe grew and grew. Each purchase more beautiful than the last until there was no more space for anything.
To be continued...