So there I sat beneath the comfort of canopy to the exterior of a rather fancy coffee shop. The cakes almost a fiver. The price to pay for Harrods adjacent view. I drank tea as the world paced before me. People peeping – that’s me ‘fly on the wall – a favourite past time.
All types, religions, ethnicities – a mixed bunch of spenders. Many wearing real fur coats. Opulently ignorant people, oblivious of the pain and suffering for their fat wallets and plastic finance.
I chatted with four women from Dubai. They wore pastel shaded, chiffon scarves around their faces. All were charming. Their eyes sparkled with assurity their lives comfortable and life styles radiant. We exchanged numbers. They shared the same husband.
A while later a Chinese couple asked to take a photograph for their son in Milan. Telling me ‘they were to spend Christmas in Malaysia.’ Retired travellers. Weathered faces – hard working hands. Quite stunning – intriguing. I could have talked for longer but their chauffeur arrived. A part of me wanted to go with them … Some take a piece of me. ‘The people peeper …’
Yet apart from this. I felt a sense of sadness at how London had changed. A sense of apprehension in the air, no feel of community in Knightsbridge. Rammed, heaving. It costs nothing to be classy … Where’s the sassiness of the British High St hiding? Come home, we miss you.
The infamous Dark green packaging – regardless of what’s inside. The stigma. Oh the stigma.
It all used to be so much more elegant. Eras change … Now dispiriting to see so many defineless with more cash than decorum. Easy money.
The eloquent now the crass. Greedy people just for ‘signature’ carrier bags.
I focus on the man to the ground making dogs from sand. The air damp, could rain any time soon. A cap full of cash. To me, he was the richest amongst the rat bags. For he had a craft combined with a wisdom to beg in the right places and this is how ‘to be’ entrepreneurs evolve organically. That is if they want to afford green carrier bags?
Tiffany Belle Harper.