I confess that I did not really like Sundays until I was older. For years I found them boring and depressing. Probably a remnant from boarding school; that awful drive on a Sunday evening after a whole day of wishing I did not have to go back, watching the cold, icy fear spreading through me as the day lengthened, then sitting in the back of the car listening to the top 40 on Capital Radio, wishing I could wake up and find it was all a dream.
So Sunday was never a pleasure until I reached my late 30Äôs and could be still and present without responding to life from my childhood.
And then along came Margaret Thatcher and the big consumer time. Suddenly money became important, much more so than it had ever been before. Property, Yuppies and Sunday Shopping broke the calm rustling of the Sunday papers.
All these years later Sunday in London is a Mammoth. A huge beast. Traffic is a nightmare, parking worse, and there is no down time.
I know I could avoid it, but it also happens to be my only day off at the moment and I need to shop for Christmas. I thought long and hard about where to go and be ÄúgoodÄù at the same time. I came up with the V&A. Culture and Shopping.
Culture, I had no patience for. The queue for the Exhibition we wanted to see was one hour long and the shop was hideous. Mugs for ¬£55, a flowered hat for ¬£750. Otherwise, nothing under ¬£5, including an empty piece of packaging Äúfor those who have everythingÄ¶.¬£5.00 Äú
I suppose this is leading me nicely into where we are all heading: The Massive Divide between the mighty rich and the normal people.
The predictions are that this group, the Normal People, are the new terror threat. We are the ones who are now being watched for imminent signs of discontent. Apparently we are the ones who are going to rise up against the Super Rich and blow them all up in a fit of fury, helplessness and an overwhelming sense of inadequacy.
There is a club here that has invented a drink. It costs ¬£35000. A man ordered one for his girlfriend saying that it was no more than a holiday cost. Some holiday. But beyond that were the Health & Safety implications that have to be involved in this delightful beverage: It has a large diamond at the bottom of it. How does the lovely female who has been gifted this delight not choke on the stone? And who is there to say that she should not choke on the stone? Somewhere it touches on the $90,000,000 spent on a film recently. And slides along beside Lady Bamford and her zeitgeist for the moment. We went unknowingly into her womenÄôs store today. Gloves for ¬£245. Knitted gloves! Wow. You really have to have nothing to do to spend that on a pair of gloves and I wonder what the little old lady who knitted them was paid.
So it is coming out into the open, the massive divide, the gulf between money: those who do and those who donÄôt, and the idiocy of those who do and what they will spend it on. The Millionaires Show in Moscow, a car costing ¬£800,000, watches that cost tens of thousands, a drink that could change the lives of so many.