Shopping

I arrived around 7:30 a.m. at Heathrow with very little sleep, thanks to the woman behind me who coughed the entire flight and when she wasn’t coughing, kicked my seat. But I grit my teeth and bore it, for I knew when the plane landed, I’d be in Anglophile Heaven a/k/a London.

We had a funny, loquacious driver who whisked us to our hotel, the InterContinental Park Lane, in no time flat, even though many of the streets in central London were closed off to traffic. That’s because today was the Queen’s Speech at the opening of Parliament; she traditionally travels by carriage, attended by her horse guards, which we got a quick glimpse of before they headed off to Buckingham Palace (and, by the way, I can see from my hotel room window!) on their way to the houses of Parliament.

So after a casual breakfast where we met our other travel companions, we took a short siesta, then headed off for a light lunch and spa treatment. I got a massage, which I sorely needed — my right shoulder is in knots. I figured after this, I’d fall on face with exhaustion, but it actually revived me, and I headed off for a long walk down Piccadilly, where I did some shopping at Fortnum & Mason and Waterstones, before doing some holiday window gazing in the Burlington Arcade, and more shopping on Regent Street. Now I’m back in my hotel room, getting ready for dinner (Theo Randall! Very excited!!) and then an early bedtime.

Ok, some general comments:

* I’m pretty sure I saw Judy Dench walking outside our hotel this afternoon. (ETA: confirmed by hotel manager that she, along with Nigella Lawson, were here today for some charity event.) And one of our travel companions told us Ralph Fiennes had drinks at the bar downstairs last time she was here. I’m a married woman and all, but boy did that bit of gossip/news set my pulse on fire.

* Twice today I was mistaken for a Brit, once by a British Red Cross volunteer, who looked really surprised when I said, “I’d love to sign your petition but I’m an American” and added, “But I’m flattered you took me for a native.” She laughed and said, “You *do* look like a native.” (I left my fanny pack and baseball cap at home. Shucks.) The other was a Brit asking me how to find some shop around Saville Row. He apologized for bothering me when I told him I was a tourist.

*Oh yes, the apologies. It’s so hard getting used to saying “sorry” for “excuse me.”

*People speak so quietly here — and it’s a blessed relief. The stores are quiet, even when they’re packed. I don’t even mind people who walk while talking on their mobiles because you can’t hear them. The only thing is, I’m constantly saying, “Sorry?” to hotel staff and people; I tend to stand farther away as I expect to have my ears blasted off.

Dinner at Theo Randall was lovely. I can’t go into too much detail — need to save it for work — but afterwards he came out to say hello afterwards. I had smoked eel for a starter, then a pasta with shaved white truffles for my main. My favorite dishes were in dessert (of course) — a pannacotta rich with vanilla, and my most favorite, a refreshing clementine sorbet. I could have eaten a couple bowls of it alone.

Tomorrow I’ll take some pics. We’re supposed to get a bit of snow on Thursday, which should be interesting.

Today’s the day — later this afternoon, I’ll be heading to London via Newark with my good friend (and most excellent traveling companion) Alison. My bags are packed, the batteries are charged, the passport is tucked away in my purse along with a few stray tenners I found in my office.

I’ll be reporting for a couple of magazine assignments while there (Paris as well), but I’m planning to blog about the trip as much as I can. My planned adventures include stops at Books for Cooks and Stanfords’ Maps and Books — Alison and I are planning more adventures for next year — and of course, the requisite stops at every Boots I pass. I’m very curious to see if my love affair with Boots has truly waned since I can  buy Boots’ products in the U.S. The other thing I’m worried about is falling in love with Publicisdrugstore while in Paris: I hear this place est magnifique — not quite a chemist/pharmacy, but … uh-oh, did I just use very bad French? Shame on me. I will try my best to remain loyal to my Anglo Saxon roots.

p.s. Husband and I think it’s hilarious that of all the French retailers’ websites I’ve visited in the last week, only one had a page in English — and that page was under construction. Those French — so intransigent with us English-speaking folk.

On Wednesday, Marks & Spencer rolled out Patricia Field’s “Sex and the City” fashion collection in London, exclusive to the retailer.

(Marks & Spencer, or M&S, is something of a British shopping institution. It’s something like Macy’s here, but not quite. For instance, M&S has the best knickers. In Yankspeak, that’s underwear. No one really goes to Macy’s for their underwear.)

Personally, I hated the fashions in SATC. Especially near the end of the series, my girlfriends and I would laugh at the ridiculous outfits freelance writer Carrie Bradshaw would wear around New York. As if! Even PR pro Samantha Jones dressed mostly like a cheap ho. My New York-based friends agreed that the two character who dressed appropriately for New Yorkers were lawyer Miranda and art gallery associate/Park Avenue Princess Charlotte.

Although there were lines of shoppers at M&S’s doors on Wednesday, The Daily Mail deems the collection, “cheap, tacky, and ill conceived.” As I look at the pictures on line, I do agree with that assessment. Indeed, they look like perfect choices for this year’s tarts and vicar party, but at these prices, you might be better off shopping the last-chance sale rack at Macy’s. If you want the real thing, you can order online.

Where’s the first place I head when I arrive in the UK? No, not Harrods (how gauche!) or Charing Cross (where I go to feed my reading addictions) or even the hotel (unless it’s very late at night and I’m tired from flying all day).

It’s Boots. Not just Boots … Boots the Chemist.

(Some of us Americans find the British use of the word “chemist” charming. It sounds so much better than “pharmacist” or “druggist.”)

I’ve been known to book flights to Europe that have exceptionally long layovers at Heathrow so I can stock up things like fizzy vitamin C tablets and (pre 2001) my favorite shower gels. I’ve even been known to try to convince my husband, “That flight through London was the best I could find to San Francisco!”

When I actually do get outside of Heathrow, I drive everyone crazy by insisting we stop at every Boots we pass so that I can stockpile my favorite goodies, some of which must be stealthily hunted. I remember dragging my friend Kate into every Boots in London so we could search for a juniper berry-based shower gel, the only gel that worked at waking me up in the morning enough to face my horrible marketing job back home in Connecticut.

Then a couple years ago, Boots came to America.

There aren’t any freestanding Boots shops here, but Boots’ brand products are now available at department stores like Target and pharmacies like CVS.* At first, I was thrilled. When there was a run on a Boots’ wrinkle cream last year, thanks to a BBC program, there were no jars of the product to be found anywhere in Britain. I smugly walked into Target, where I found jars of the stuff. (I think American women are immune to hyperbole about beauty products. If you tell them there’s a candy bar that won’t end up on their ass, though, they’ll buy it hook, line, and sinker.)

Now that there’s Boots, Boots everywhere, going to Boots in the UK isn’t the same. I was passing through Heathrow in March on the way back from Mumbai, and I listlessly poked around the shelves. What’s wrong with me, I thought. I should be wetting myself with glee. I blamed the fact that I couldn’t bring anything bigger than 4 ounces on the flight back to the U.S. and that I was feeling anti-capitalistic after seeing India. But the fact was, I’d seen all the shower gels, the makeup, the wrinkle creams a couple weeks before in Nashua, New Hampshire. The magic was gone.

I’ll be in London for five days in December, so I’m curious if my mood will change when I’m able to peruse a proper Boots, not just the abbreviated airport version. I hate to see my love affair end over too much familiarity.

*It should be mentioned that I know Brits who feel the same way about Target and CVS as I do about Boots.