After ten years, the time was fast approaching for me to take my leave of London. As you know, I had spent the last couple of years acquiring a whole boatload of lovely wardrobe items and now it was November of 2007 and I had only weeks of London shopping left. There were still some critical items to get to complete my two-year designer shopping spree, so the pressure was on.
The most important of all the last minute items was an ‘it’ bag. Yes, I know I had just got myself a Chanel 2.55, but that was for Sunday best. I needed a statement bag for everyday use, and I set my sights on the very best I could find.
I went off to Selfridges one day and browsed the bags. I stroked the leather. I held them in my arms. And then I decided. A white YSL Muse it was to be. It was big enough, bold enough for the South Africa summer sun, and it looked amazing both over my shoulder and nestled into the crook of my arm. I stood back and admired my cleverness in the mirror.
But something held me back. I am not entirely sure what it was, but I had a weird nagging sense of doubt. Well, I don’t do nagging doubt. I buy things and just bloody get on with it. I am no shopping faffer. I am decisive and strong and bold in my choices. And so, reluctantly I set the Muse bag upon her stand and, with one last stroke of the leather, I slowly walked away.
I set out from Selfridges on Oxford Street and wandered a little aimlessly for a while and found myself inexorably drawn across the road, past the big Dotty P at the tube station, and sucked down the greatest shopping road in the world, Old Bond Street. I was happy to wander, so I passed by Reiss and Fenwicks. I popped into Mulberry and Jimmy Choo and then I found myself staring in at the window of stationery store, Smythson.
I had read about their Nancy bags and they looked delicious. I also know that they were luxury and expensive – not in an ‘it’ bag way, but in a proper investment way. I needed to get my diary for 2008 so I went into the store and asked about the bags. They showed me a wonderful chocolate brown version in three sizes. And when they opened the largest of these up and I peered inside and saw the lavender satin lining and the tardis-like capacity, I was sold. At just on £1000, this was a big deal. And so I decided that the black version it must be, in order to get the most out of the investment.
Needless to say, they did not have any large black Nancy’s in stock. Obviously. Too easy. This was a sad day for me and my handbag shopping. They said that they had a waiting list and would I like to be added. I asked how long it would take and they said a few weeks. I said that I didn’t have a few weeks and they must hurry. They said that they loved me and would pop me right up on top of the list. I knew that they were lying, but I was hopeful as I made my way back to north London that night.
Three weeks later, in early December, just two days before I flew out to South Africa I got a call from Smythson to tell me that I could come into the store. I strapped on my wings and I flew there as fast as the London public transport system would allow. And there she was. My big black Nancy. Waiting for me to take away and wear with pride in my new life in South Africa.
To be continued...
