That Girl from Derwent dwells on the value of religion this Christmas.
That Girl from Derwent has learned a few more things about prejudice since moving up North.
That Girl From Derwent reckons if you're going to be offensive, you should find a better reason.
That Girl from Derwent considers why it is that some words have wider implications than others.
I’ve always enjoyed people-watching, wondering where people are going, what they’re thinking about, whether they’re doing the same as me. At Christmas time it’s particularly fascinating: the shops are filled with a mix of young and old, the fashionable and the not-so, clueless boyfriends, sensible mothers, and excitable children – they all have one thing in common, they’re looking for a happy Christmas, and they’re hoping to find it here; whether in Topshop or Debenhams, Waterstones or Boots, they want to box it up and present it to their loved ones.
And my favourite thing of all? Unwrapping their actions and finding a story for each of them.
In River Island, browsing the jewellery, I watch as a group of guys enter the shop. The leader strides confidently ahead at first, his friends trailing behind him, but as soon as he reaches the aisle where I am he stops short, his face suddenly etched with panic. He searches manically through the racks but soon realises that what he’s looking for is no longer there, he turns to his friends for support but they simply shrug and start blurting out random words:
‘Toblerone!’
‘Scarf!’
‘A penknife’...
Poor guy. I imagine he had strict instructions from his girlfriend to buy something, and as soon as he realised that he’d failed in the task, his rationality went out the window. He’s not the first I’ve seen; in fact, it’s usually the same setup - a boyfriend attempting last minute shopping with the help of his friends who are more interested in drooling over the new CoD in HMV.
Whoops.
I hope his girlfriend didn’t end up with a Toblerone...
I love wandering around Selfridges, admiring the displays, laughing at the price of expensive handbags whilst secretly wanting one; but this time I came across a different kind of display...
A man, in his thirties and dressed in a crisp suit, held two bottles of perfume in his hands. He looked like he could be a businessman, like he made important decisions every day with ease, but this had clearly baffled him. His head shifted comically as he looked from one bottle to the other, wrought with indecision. Sweat was dripping from his brow; it was if he was making the most important decision of his life. I could see that he was itching to ask someone, anyone, but a part of him wanted to decide without help. So he stood, rooted to the spot, unable to move. I had a feeling he could stand there all night, weighing out the pros and cons of Chanel No. 5 against Marc Jacobs without ever coming to a decision. I was worried I’d come back a few hours later and he’d be huddled under the counter rocking back and forth. But suddenly he moved – his right hand lowering slowly as he placed Marc Jacobs back on the shelf. He grasped Chanel in both hands and looked at it for a few moments, the tension paramount, but then he nodded to himself and breathed a sigh of relief. Regaining his businesslike swagger he strolled off to pay, flashing his shiny Mastercard as he went.
I had to laugh, it reminded me that no one is in control all of the time, even when they appear to be.
My favourite shopper of all I find in WH Smith’s. As I glance at the back of the new Kinsella I want to buy, I notice an elderly woman standing in the children’s section. She’s smiling to herself as she turns the big, colourful pages of a book entitled ‘Baby’s First Christmas’. I guess it’s the first time she’s been a grandmother, and from the look on her face she’s happier than she’s ever been. Occasionally she stops and grins, as if remembering something her grandchild has done, or perhaps she’s thinking of future happenings in her grandchild’s life – first steps, first words, going to school – so much to be thankful for, so many happy Christmases to come. And this is just the first, the beginning of a whole new life. The grandmother goes to pay for her book, and I smile at her as she passes, sharing her joy.
When I finally find mum and dad, weighed down with carrier bags, they ask if I’ve seen anything I like. I simply grin back at them.
I’d realised there’s more than just gifts to see, if you really look.
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