I look around. People are wrapped in thick and warm winter clothes, making me feel very content and festive.
Striding down Oxford Street, my glow of happiness crumbles into a mixed feeling of empathy and guilt at the sight of a tramp, begging to the affluent, dismissive passers by.
All the Christmas spirit has left me as I gaze at the poor young tramp, tightly clutching on his scraggy old blanket with his dirty worn shoes, and thin black greasy hair. He frailly reaches his arms out to me, begging for money. The desperation I see on his face brings a tear to my eye, as for a second I wonder, what if this was me?
Debating with myself whether or not to give him anything, I rummage through my bag and grab an orange, put it in his hand. His tense body relaxes with a sigh of relief.
“Thank you”, he says, in ultimate gratitude.
I give him a big smile and carry on my journey with Jane.
“Are you mad?”, Jane snaps irritably, “What ‘s he supposed to do with an orange?”
I don’t explain to her my fleeting vision of myself in his shoes.
Next, I see someone completely from the other end of the spectrum, as a snobbish looking woman, in a long leather coat and a mobile in her hand is shouting down the phone at someone.
“Look darling, if you don’t get this deal for me then Ruby here is going to have to sack you as there are many other people waiting in line for this job. Once in a lifetime chance darling, remember that sweetie, chow”.
I look up at the beautiful Christmas sky once again, and I see the Christmas lights, sparkling and shining, bright and clear in the raining snow sky, stretched from one side of the street to the other. My eyes scan down and I see the elegant shop window displays that are only admired at Christmas.
Thornton’s, the best chocolate shop in the world is displayed immaculately as we drool over the dark and white, rich confectionary selections. Our mouths water as we smell the sweet addictive and entrancing aroma of The coco bean.
As we pass Selfridges, there is a queue almost two hundred yards long, as we see scores of children scurrying around and making lots of noise, waiting impatiently to see Father Christmas.
I smile to myself as a feeling of nostalgia takes me back to when I was a little girl coming here to see Father Christmas.
The streets are packed. As I see thousands of people swarming, rushing and weaving about, I see a corrupted youth walking extremely fast. Almost running, he rams into a helpless old lady and knocks her over. He is emotionless. He carries on walking not giving a second thought to the poor, old woman he had just knocked onto the ground.
People rush down to aid her and thankfully, she is not injured as people help her to her feet.
‘Scumbag’! I thought, as I saw his head fade into the distance of people.
A nice, middle aged, caring woman, takes her into a nearby coffee shop to calm her down.
All of a sudden, I hear the ‘beep, beep’, of a Mercedes. I sharply turn my head and see a horrendous jam at the traffic lights.
“Look at that”, I said in frustration.
“I know,” Jane agrees. “Stupid Ken Livingston”.
We laugh and carry on with our manic day out. Stopping at the crossing, a shoal of people, waiting to cross are as silent as the starry, night sky. So squashed, torsos are joined from shoulder to shoulder. Jane and I are yapping away about all the presents we are yet to buy. We laugh and joke, when the same, mid- forties, snobby business woman looks down at us and sighs, as if to say, ‘Oh shut up you silly little girls’. Her giant nostrils flare in rage, we find it hilarious as we can almost see up to her brain! We try to contain ourselves, but it’s no use! We spurt into fits of laughter and she tosses her head back to the ongoing traffic.
The ‘Safe To Walk’, man slowly fades from red to green and there is an urge among everyone to cross quickly. I hear the rhythmic click-clack of peoples’ shoes and smile, appreciating the small, insignificant things in life, as I realize people take everything for granted.
After we had been to about twelve shops, struggling with our heavy bags, we stop for lunch. Unfortunately, there is no rest for the wicked, as we scoff our McDonalds.
We rush around like headless chickens as we look through the window of a café and there and then the devious time starts our countdown. We have one hour left. We know we have to start thinking about making our way home, when suddenly, our fashion ‘radars’ are drawn to a gorgeous, old, and expensive vintage boutique. We completely dismiss the time and rummage around, admiring the voluptuous, wispy 1950s dresses and accessories.
There was no way we could afford these very much desired essentials, but to prance and parade about in the ‘Celebrity Gear’ was a great time out from Oxford Street’s manic traffic, unpredictable people and laughably expensive shops that is ……..
Bedlam at Christmas!