23 April, 2006 | Leave a Comment

Yesterday was one of the first real spring days. No jacket required! I love how my body feels the first few days of spring – so much lighter without the bulk of the jacket. It’s like shedding my winter skin.

To celebrate the spring loveliness, I took a seven-mile walk around London. I walked all over the place, including Belgravia, where I’d never been before. It wasn’t too exciting, just a bunch of embassies and rich people. But the people who live there are fascinating to observe. Many of them are total trash in the way that only a moneyed person can be. I saw this one woman unloading groceries from the back of her Mercedes. Her skin was bright orange (fake tan alert!) and she was wearing a blue velour track suit that could barely contain her fake boobs. Classy!

Walking around London is dangerous, because temptation to shop is everywhere. For example, you may find yourself in Knightsbridge and realize it’s time for a pee break. The loos at Harrods are certainly nice, you may think to yourself. And before you know it, you’re in the Harrods Food Hall and you’ve spent £2 on a piece of marzipan shaped like a succulent apple (complete with stem).

Really, the Food Halls, especially the candy section, are like Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory – minus Johnny Depp, boo hoo. Despite the displays filled with every delight imaginable, the longest queue was at the Krispy Kreme counter. How very unoriginal. And BTW, do any English people actually shop at Harrods? The place was filled with Eurotrash and Americans. One American woman in the candy department was filling her basket with half-price Easter candy and couldn’t resist shouting “Score!” Oh, how embarrassing.

I don’t mind spending a bit of £££ at the over-priced Harrods, because owner Mohamed Al Fayed rocks. The royal family has essentially been banned from the store, he’s got kitschy memorials to Dodi and Diana on display, and he’s not afraid to say he thinks Prince Phillip was somehow involved in the murders unfortunate deaths of his son and Di. However, all of the signs in the Foods Halls that warn “Please do not eat your purchases on the premises,” should be taken down. I mean, really. Not everyone who shops there is a hillbilly from the wilds of Italy or Nebraska or wherever.

Back outside in the real world, where people aren’t outnumbered by security guards, I spent most of the afternoon walking around with no real plan. It’s surprising how small central London really is. On my walk I hoped to avoid Oxford Street, but alas, this was not possible. Damn Oxford Street, you festering blister on the backside of humanity! It’s impossible to stroll down Oxford Street because if you slow down for even a second, you might be trampled to death by people wearing cheap gold jewellery.

There was one moment of entertainment on the most crowded street in Britain, courtesy of a religious fanatic with a megaphone (who I’ve seen there before). He was shouting at everyone to repent for their sins. And you ladies with the chunky blond zebra-stripe highlights in your hair – he was talking to you.

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