On Wednesday afternoon I went to Harrods. This is what I did there.
In the Ladurée cafe on the first floor I came across this dizzying array of macaroons (see below). In my experience macaroons are a bit like wild mushrooms, in that the dullest looking ones are normally the best and the alluringly bright ones are usually the most virulent. I briefly contemplate warning the lady in front of me to reconsider her selection of a strawberry macaroon (they taste like washing up liquid) and to instead go for an extra pistachio (my favourite).
Ignoring the macaroons I ordered a Plaisir Sucré and a pot of Ceylon tea (see aerial shot below).
After tea I took a leisurely stroll through the shop. In the cutlery section I came across this elegant yet understated silver set (see below).
‘Are you interested in this exquisite Carrs silver set,’ enquired a female shop assistant.
‘I’ll take them.’
‘Do you require the box gift wrapped?’
‘I only want these two teaspoons,’ reply I, placing two teaspoons in her palm.
A few minutes later, clasping a small Harrods bag containing my two teaspoons, I made my way to the Luxury Goods department, where I came across what I thought was an ostentatious Ocelot. The label revealed that it actually a ‘lurking Panther’.
Next up was this garish, jewel encrusted Aquamarine Panther (see below).
Having finished with the big cats, I wandered through to the Halcyon art gallery, where I came across this multi-coloured Mao (see below).
The multi-coloured Mao or Cultural Revolution Mark II as I refer to it as was painted by Andy Warhol in 1972. It is an iconic piece of art that continues to cause controversy to this day. Last year the Chinese authorities banned the painting from an exhibition in the country. I was somewhat surprised to see it here in Harrods, a shop that has so many Chinese visitors that there are Chinese speaking staff members in a number of departments. I took to wondering how Chinese tourists visiting the gallery would react. I didn’t have to wait long to find out. A one child Chinese family entered the gallery soon after. The girl, eleven or so I guess, a stack of newly purchased designer handbags cradled under each arm, uttered ‘Mao’ several times and emitted noises that were evidently glee. Her parents approaching the picture took photographs, whilst the grandparents cowered in a corner, perhaps recollecting the Little Red Book touting days of their youth on the communal farm.
It was time to leave.