23 October 2013
I made a right turn from Knightsbridge, abandoning the view of Harvey Nichols. The stoop that surrounded the side of Burberry was appealing. I wanted nothing more than to sit on it to physically claim out a space for myself. I drew as close to the stoop as I could without actually sitting. According to the map, Harrods was just around the corner. "Go to Harrods," J.H. and K.B. had instructed. I continued my turn onto Brompton Road and took a moment to mentally applaud my navigating ability. I looked right and then left, recognizing that my instinct to look the correct way for oncoming traffic had been committed to implicit memory. Tourists were photographing Charles William Stephens' epic structure. I felt inclined to follow their example before heading inside. I am not in the market for a £1,000 bag today, I thought. But if I were, I would know exactly were to go. I traveled uninterested, through the sea of decadence . When I landed upon the books, I was amused but did not take time to browse intensely, bearing in mind the impact books have on the weight of a suitcase. Omnia Omnibus Ubique, goes the Harrods motto. Having brought myself to the food hall, I was still doubtful of the store's potential to fascinate me. Then I began to crave chocolate and inquired after its location. For the rest of my visit I swirled around in the fine company of Prestat and chocolate by Harrods. Truffles by the former were consumed before exiting the food hall, despite notices asking costumers to refrain. A chocolate bar by the latter was enjoyed on the walk home westward on Knightsbridge.