Monday, April 23, 2007
Well, Deni-O and I have returned from our brief sojourn in London. We began as we meant to go on and plundered Duty Free on our way out of the country. Here's my haul:
We didn't buy very much in the way of clothes since there was nothing we really saw that couldn't be got at home anyways. Do you remember how exciting it used to be to go to Boots and Miss Selfridge and [OMG] New Look?! Not quite the same when they're easily accessible in Liffey Val rather than just available on Oxford Street, sure it's not? My sole apparel purchase was two pairs of my beloved David & Goliath pyjamas, one emblazoned with "One Tough Cookie" and the other with "I only have ice for you". Observe the brilliantness:
What we didn't buy in clothes, we made up for in skincare. Liz Earle skincare. The staff in the shop in Duke of York Square must still be reeling, I mean this is just what I got:
Freebie with these purchases:
A trip to Portobello Market on Sunday furnished me with eight cut glass cabinet pulls from Chloe Alberry, where I was overcharged by £22 and didn't cop it because I was distracted by trying not to let my rapidly melting Mövenpick ice cream drip all over the place. I had barely set foot outside the door when it occured to me that "bloody hell... that was really frickin' dear..." On checking my receipt, I discovered that I'd be charged for ten items @ £7 each... but I'd actually only bought eight pulls that were marked at £6 each. Wheeling about, I went straight back in to the shop and very politely told the assistant that he'd charged me for ten pulls but I only had eight of them and, I said, they should have only have been £6 apiece. His response was a condescending "Noooo, you've ten. And they're £7 each". After my experiences earlier that morning [more of which anon], I was in no mood to be trifled with. The words "Mmm hmm? Bring it, b*tch!" flitted across my mind.
With a cocked eyebrow that would have put Glenda Gilsen to shame, I gestured to the sign relevant to the pulls in question which had a dirty great black unmistakable '£6' inked on it and responded "Well they're marked at £6." "Oh, yeah. So I owe you a tenner, is it" he said. "Well no" I said, "you've charged me for ten - I only have eight." His response? "No, love, you've ten." "Actually, I have eight" I countered. "I know because I have eight presses in my kitchen that I'm buying these for, so I counted them pretty carefully." He then made a big production out of taking the pulls from the bag, one by one, and counting them very slowly and theatrically. My eyebrow was becoming one with my hairline at this stage, and I'd a hand on my hip and the vaguest of "I Effing Told You So, Ha!" smirks on my face: I knew what was coming.
"Ooone. Twooo. Threee. Fourrr. Fiiiive. Siiix..." At this point it became pretty bloody obvious that there were only two more pulls left in the bottom of the bag. "Oh, right" he said. "So I owe you a tenner then." "Eh, no" sez I, "you owe me £22." He handed over the cash, simpered "Sorry about that" and I was on my way, vindicated.
It was only when we got to the other end of the market that I flipping realised I'd paid by Visa originally. What fecking use was £22 in cash to me in my last hour in London?!
To allay my annoyance, I picked up five "Happy Panda" acrylic tumblers from Artbox to replace the ones that I'd bought on my last trip to London, which Himself had loaded into the dishwasher a few months back in a fit of tidying up. The lovely decoration on them sort of faded and melted off, as is plastic's wont when faced with crashing gushes of almost boiling water *rolleyes*. Couldn't find a piccie of the exact ones I got, but this is a similar glass from their range so you can see the cuteness:
Here endeth the purchasing.
Stay tooned for more London-themed posts: an analysis of the Liz Earle stuff in action and a review of the place we stayed are in the pipeline.