Knightsbridge

I boarded a Piccadilly Line Tube train this afternoon, intending to get off at South Kensington, where I’d thought I’d visit the Natural History Museum to look at old fossils and minerals. But a strange force came over me, and I exited the train a stop early at Knightsbridge, and I found myself walking towards Harrods instead.

An enjoyable afternoon was to be had amidst the many floors of this most remarkable of departmental stores, with its lavish food halls, opera-singing staff members, and a weird and very life-like wax work of its boss Mohamed Al Fayed. I headed to the basement alcohol section, whereupon I came across a bottle of sancerre, priced to the moon, reminding me that this was one of the Singapore Doctor's favourite wines. I think it's his birthday tomorrow, so let's hope he's celebrating it with good friends and great company.

Through the many many levels and sections in Harrods, I thought to myself that if I had a million pounds, I could sure spend quite a bit more time inside within these lavish, enticing surroundings. But it was not to be, this perverse, fanciful fantasy, and so I exited, humbly, picking up my free copy of the London Paper for the anonymous ride back to Russell Square.