‘No time to stand around in the doorway my girl, I’ve got shortbread to buy.’ With a steely look she stamped into the department store. Christmas shopping on Oxford Street was one of the best and worst things about Christmas in the capital. The shops bulged with stock – racks of gloves, novelty slippers, gadgets, gizmos, stocking fillers and those special somethings. At every turn, beauty counters offered spritzes of special-edition cinnamon-scented perfumes and food halls filled hungry shoppers’ tummies with sample mince pies and flowing prosecco. Elaborate window displays – Santa’s grottoes, Christmas mornings, enchanted forests – rivaled the Tate for artistic masterpieces. Shoppers were rosy-cheeked, twinkly-eyed and flinging money at the cashiers like Santa after a little too much Christmas spirit. But it didn’t take long for them to transform into desperate last-minute buyers fighting over the last jelly bean-pooping reindeer toy.
What do You think about The Twelve Dates Of Christmas?
