All the things one cannot say


I am weighed down by things that cannot be discussed on the weblog. The edges have become so defined over the years of writing online and my thoughts, today, do not translate into publishable material.

So on a lighter note, an observation about Central London.

I spent the morning in town yesterday. I started with a meeting in Sloane Square. From there I walked to Egg and looked at a little, tiny knitted waistcoat. Price? £750.
I walked along Knightsbridge and licked windows for a while. Prada and all the other glamorous, shiny, expensive, way out of my reach, or for that matter desires. Things that have become silly, catering to a severe financial excess.

I could envisage where this is all leading: I did not go into ANY of the shops because I know that their prices are false. They are made that high to satisfy an insane need to feel pampered and to cover insane rents. I think that little by little, people will shop more carefully and come to the niche areas like Balham because the choice, the prices and the service is totally different.

So I came away smiling and walked all the way to the shop. It was a long walk, but in the crispy cold it was good. I arrived feeling elevated. Waking up this morning I decided to cycle to the shop and now face the highly daunting task of cycling back home, up hill, in the freezing cold. How courageous am I, really?