Welcome To The Jungle

The word “gong show”? A staggering understatement for today.

It was as if everyone who was away for the past couple of days came back into the city with a vengeance just for the Boxing Day sales. From the time we got onto the tube and made our exit at Tottenham Court Road, walking to Oxford Circus was like being carried by a swell of shoppers. The energy was on the insane side, but it was somewhat welcomed after the freakish ghost town-like atmosphere yesterday.

The stores were trying to outdo each other with posters, screaming of their sales all around us. It was like you didn’t know where to begin. Granted, Oxford Street is a draw for local and tourists shopping, no matter what time of the year, but I haven’t ever seen it heaving with people like it was today. You’d never guess there was a credit crunch on, with some people dropping money on things reduced to still on the high side of £20-75 for tops and bottoms at Topshop.

Course a visit to Oxford Circus would not be complete without going into Topshop. Chris and I were to rendez-vous back at the front in half an hour; Chris going to Topman upstairs and me going downstairs.

Surprisingly, although the rails and rails of clothes were picked through, the sales were not so significant. Not surprisingly, given my experience from last summer, there were nothing in my size to try on or even look at. The only thing I can say I got from the Topshop boxing day sale was a Topshop bottled water which the store made available; all the more reason to spend your time and hard earned cash in no other stores than theirs, hydrated.

The half hour flew and by the time I got up to our meeting place, Chris was already there. Seems that Topman was so packed and the queues to the till and change room so long (and I thought women were the power consumers), that he didn’t even want to shop around. Poor guy had sat there for half an hour, waiting for me.

As the afternoon wore on, the London streets remained ever crammed. We walked through Carnaby street and I’ve mentally earmarked a couple of things to check out when I return the next few days. As for now, I decided to play the observer and not active participant. I’m a gal of incredible self-restraint.

We walked under the Christmas lights of Regent Street and found ourselves at Piccadilly Circus before cruising through Chinatown. Did I say that our original plan was to spend the day at the National Art Gallery (the only museum opened today) down at Trafalgar Square?

Rather than be doomed to wait for service in the surely long lines at any given restaurants down in Covent Garden/Leicester Square area, Chris and I opted to find a low-key pub back up in Hoxton for dinner and drinks.

I knew we found the right one when I looked at the sign. Spread Eagle. With a name like that, how could you say no? Yes, folks, I have now found a pub name that has beaten the one I found last time I visited, The Cock.

What did I eat at spread eagle? Fish and chips, naturellement. And it was good and savoured and appreciated in this dimly lit and quiet-ish pub on this crazy consumer day.