So yesterday I went to London with my family. Usually hanging around with my family isn’t my idea of ‘fun’, but when London is concerned, I’ll do whatever it takes, because for some strange reason I am obsessed with it! I don’t know what attracts me to London, it may just be the never- ending amount of shops, from high-street to designer, to dainty little boutique’s, or the hustle and bustle of people with places to go and people to see… or the endless amount of humour that is brought to me by watching tourists trying to get as many pictures they can of a red telephone box or a black cab. Never the less, no matter what it is, I doubt anyone would ever find me in London without a huge smile accross my face.
So anyway, while I was in London, admiring the beautiful Alexander McQueen gowns in Harvey Nichols, and telling my dad pointless facts about him, or any other designer that I came across, I was also taking endless amount of photo’s myself (which no doubt probably made me look like a tourist- which i hate the thought of) for my portfolio, and just to add to the already-too-big-a-file of photo’s from previous trips to London. I managed to accumulate photo’s of Chanel-esque lamposts and many photo’s of the outside of the Burberry store in Regents Street (By the time we got to the store, much to my dissapointment it was closed!- I almost shed a tear) and the outside of Horseferry house as we drove past. I got so excited as i walked up to Burberry alongside my dad (and his wallet) but as we got closer, i noticed it was closed… And then i blamed my dad for not taking me earlier, but he did promise that he had to come back to London in a few weeks on a business call so I could always go with him then!
Another thing I noticed whilst roaming around, was the Louis Vuitton bag’s on almost every other woman’s arm. It got me thinking on how many of them were actually authentic and how many of them were faux, and just by a glance at the face of the girl, it was easy enough to gather roughly which were the real, and which were the fake.
Finally, as I sat in the backseat of my dad’s Honda Hybrid on our way back home, a red ferrari pulled up alongside us. The driver looked like one of those who was borrowing the car from his oh-so-rich father and his 'bird’ in the passenger seat was an orange barbie, fixing her makeup. The young driver turned and saw me looking down at him from his roofless convertible and gave me a smile, then turned up his music, while his girlfriend sat there and gave me the evil eyes. This type of guy really doesn’t impress me, and the fact that I myself have been in the same model of ferrari (which belongs to my uncle) was also another reason for me to be unimpressed. I put up my window, stuck in my Ipod and turned away. As the traffic lights turned green and my dad drove off down the motorway at only 85mph, the cherry-red ferrari, which was now behind us, struggled to keep up. I couldn’t help but laugh at the driver’s pathetic-ness as i thought to myself “money isn’t everything”.