I went for a wander down Tottenham Court Road this evening about 5pm, and watched the inexorable retail cycle grinding its way onwards. On this Christmas Eve many of the shops were how shut, their “Boxing Day sale – 50% off” posters already plastered across the windows, in preparation for the return to the fray after tomorrow’s brief hiatus. In those that had just shut the shop assistants were in mid-plaster – some with beer bottles from hasty work “celebrations” in hand, the 50% signs lying uncomfortably beside the battered tinsel and “Christmas special” labels.
A few were open still, with “post-Christmas sale” prices already running – a bonus for the brave and foolhardy souls who really believe in last-minute Christmas shopping. One man, had however, left it that little bit too late, pleading fruitlessly at the closed door of the mobile phone shop: “But I know exactly what I want…”
I stopped, however, at the corner of Oxford Street, for it was still packed with fierce-faced shoppers whose stuffed plastic carrier bags formed tank-like protusions around them; too much for this flaneuse to face…
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