Yesterday I ventured out to finally buy a few bits and pieces for the BWC on Sunday. I only have myself to blame for this, having left things to the last minute.
I started off (without my Brompton) on a number 6 bus heading towards Marble Arch, my destination being Primarks flagship store. Regular readers of my blog will no doubt know that I hate public transport. Keep this in mind when reading further.
Persons unknown got on said bus and didn't sit next to me and were in fact several metres away. This distance did not in any way prevent the putrid stench wafting its way down the bus to my nostrils. I am not exaggerating when I say that this outrage of smell would have choked a horse. As nonchalantly as I could I got up and out of my seat, while holding my breath and proceeded up stairs.
The bus approached Marble Arch and could not stand being on the bus any longer. I walked the short distance to Primark with a heavy tread. Walking inside Primark, Marble Arch for the first time, I must say that nothing in life prepared me for this particular shopping expedition.
The first thing I made a mental note of was the fact that Primark Marble Arch was incredibly busy. I would go as far as suggesting it was like television reports of the sales at Christmas, where people sleep outside a shop in the hope of grabbing a bargain!
People of all ages, all nationalities were shopping in an almost frenzy. To me it felt like one of those zombie films with yours truly searching terrified for safety. The second thing I made a mental note of was, never again.
I made my way to the first floor and tried to look for a jacket. On route I saw a short sleeved white shirt and grabbed it. Not long after this I saw some suitable jackets, tried one on and almost shouted out hallelujah. I made my way to the tills. It was at this point things took a turn for the worse.
The number of people in front of me was astounding. I got my trusty iPhone out to while away the time and started tapping away when I detected a strange smell. Some Germans I believe, started to say, 'mine Got. Was ist das smellen?' (Or there abouts). I recognised that smell as being the same one on that dreaded bus. The bastard had followed me! After what seemed like an age I reached, 'cashier number 8' paid and almost ran.
Once out in the open, I chance I may have resembled a brave WWII POW at the point they had first exited their escape tunnel to possible freedom.
I now have my complete outfit and look forward greatly to the BWC on Sunday. If this has taught me one thing for next year, it will be not to leave things to the last minute. In addition, call me an elitist snob but I don't feel I could give my patronage to Primark, ever again!