We were tubing our way to the Natural Science Museum to see how the Darwin exhibition was evolving when Karen said: "Why don't we stop at Harrods on the way?"
The last time Karen went to Harrods, she brought back a tiny jar of pesto. It cost her £12! I was quite Pestoff!
Under duress, I let myself be dragged into Al Fayed's Egyptian bazaar. I snappily whisked Karen past various crocodile shoes and bags and into the famous Harrods Food Hall.
There was food, food and food. Raw, cooked, ready-to-eat, ready-to-cook, Chinese, Japanese, Italian, Lebanese... Foods from the whole world, in fact.
Fruit and vegetables I had never seen let alone heard of.
A sushi counter fit for a sumo wrestler's diet.
An atomic display of mushrooms.
Enough fresh dates to fill a two-year diary.
There was even a travel-agency style counter manned/womened by smartly-dressed models taking food orders from posh people who believe an Aga is just another religious icon.
We finished our visit with a swift fly-over the chocolaaaaaaate department. I shut down all five senses and raced out of Harrods. Torture?
If there ever had been a moment when I longed to return to my scouting days, it was that day. I could have gladly volunteered to camp in that Food Hall for at least a whole year.
Do not forget to tell us what you will do on Valentine's Day. (Poll in the top right hand corner)
