The TIME magazine party I covered earlier this month was held in Mayfair – a mere hop, skip and flash of a credit card from South Molton Street. For as long as I’ve known London (and thanks to work, I’ve known it geekily well at times), South Molton Street has been a fine place to misspend a few hours coveting goods…but MY GOD has it got good now. It’s basically a roll call of my favourite (expensive) brands: Sandro, Maje, Comptoir des Cotonniers, Poste, The Kooples…hell, there’s even a Petit Bateau (not that the kids were getting a look in with only half an hour to spare before work called).
Half an hour would have once been enough time for me to, erm, I don’t know, make a decision about a pair of tights or something. But I am a mother now. I am made of sterner – and much more opportunistic – stuff. So I took a breath (there wasn’t time for a deep one), speed scanned the racks, narrowed down the contenders, rejected everything that exceeded the price pain barrier (umm, that would be most of it then) and walked out of The Kooples with a couple of minutes to spare and a pleasing new season broderie anglaise top secreted between my laptop and VIP crib sheet for the party. Result.
A pleasing purchase, a spot of brain engagement, the chance to catch up with old work colleagues and my first child-free night since C was born at a friend’s house in Peckham… it hardly felt like work. Until I had to write it up two days later in between toddler/baby demands and on less than four hours sleep that was.