London Town

Emily Powell

London. What is it about London? The country's hub has always held such an enticing charm for me, it's a mysterious place, a hive of activity; so many people, so many places, so much to do. It's like a giant playground just begging to be explored. Which is why, when I finally reached Piccadilly Circus with my friend Jo (it was pure coincidence that we ended up there, we just headed in a straight line until we found somewhere interesting) I was, quite frankly, a little disappointed. It held none of the enchantment that it seems to possess in films, yet what it lacked in glamour was more than compensated by the ear-splitting racket of the swarm of traffic. Slightly disheartened though I was, still, I had to ask... Take a picture of me Jo, please?"

Not a chance. In the words of my ever politically correct friend, she didn't want us to look like "Japanese tourists". It was worth a try though.

And I tried again, this time in China Town. No such luck. Thankfully, however, this place didn't feature a lot in films, so it was full of pleasant surprises. The best of which was (I think) a Chinese green grocers. It should have been quite dull, really, but never in my life have I found a packet of noodles so exciting. After all, the packet was written in Chinese. Among these mysterious shelves were innumerable other delights, such as a fruit that somewhat resembled a melon, with the only difference being it's covering of spines (a Chinese delicacy, I have been assured) and a bottle of, well, something. This was no ordinary bottle, though. It was intricately adorned with cartoon drawings. Chinese drawings. "Oh, mate." Jo announced, "1 have to have this."

This little trip to the Chinese equivalent of Tesco's had left our stomachs rumbling. Being in London, which contains a myriad of quaint, quirky restaurants and cafes, we had to, of course, eat at only the finest, the most stylish restaurant. Of course. Which is why we ended up in McDonald's. It was not the top of my list, but, believe me, you do not want to argue with a hungry Jo.

Next stop, Primark. With it being her sister's birthday the next day, Joanna wanted to get her loved one something really special. Or, put rather more frankly in Jo's terms, "the cheapest thing I can find." Firstly though, was the business of getting there. I don't know if you have ever had the misfortune to try and find a shop on Oxford street, but let me assure you, it is no easy feat. We must have walked for hours, asked hundreds of people for directions, complained of tired feet thousands of times, before we finally arrived. It was without a doubt, the largest store I have ever seen. And I have been to Wal-Mart. Not only this, but this humongous warehouse was a mob of people. Everywhere, there were people. And there were hundreds more flooding in every second. Needless to say, we tried to be as quick as possible. This was not as easy as it may seem. Firstly, navigating your way through a sea of people is hard work. Secondly, Jo, it seemed, had planned to buy her entire new wardrobe here. So after picking up three pairs of jeans, five shirts and seven bras, we had to try and locate a changing room. Unfortunately, it seemed everybody else had almost as many items to try on as Jo, and the queue stretched back from one end of the store to the other; this, however, was no hindrance to J0. Before I knew what was happening, I turned to Jo in the middle of the store to see she had already thrown off her trousers and was trying to navigate her legs through a pair of skinny jeans. Thankfully, she did not try on the bras. After she had determined that these were all worthy purchases, we joined the line of people snaking its way through the store to the tills at the other end. We were almost there when Jo said "Ooh, hold on." And then ran off. She returned a few moments later carrying a small bag, to which was attached a price tag. £2. "This will do for my sister's present" she said, with a wry smile, tugging off the price tag.

After escaping the giant shopping extravaganza, we decided that a rest was in order. So, once more, we picked a direction down the street, and walked. Eventually, we came across a vast expanse of grass, stretching almost as far as the eye can see a beautiful blaze of green and open space in the crowded city. We hurried in, and came to rest under a large oak tree. The day was stunning, with the kind of hazy blue sky that only occurs in the height of summer when the temperature is perfect, and there was the sweet scent of fresh cut grass rising lazily through the air. The air was full with the sounds of voices, the occasional spurt of laughter or the thwack of a football, and the incessant rush of traffic had died away to a subdued hush in the background. As I lay under the oak tree, gazing up into it's faraway canopy of iridescent green leaves, I couldn't help but think that this was a very fitting way to end such an (almost) perfect day. There, was, however, one more thing that would make my outing complete.

"Jo, will you take my picture. Please?"

"Oh, all right then."