Pre-Christmas Perfume Sales in London

Forget Boxing Day. Say hello to the pre-Christmas sales.

Despite returning home from my log cabin holiday just past noon, I was out of my house within less than an hour, heading towards, well, where else, Harrods, of course. After all, who needs lunch when you have Harrods? Upon arrival, I found out that I was right. The sales had begun. And so the terrible force of nature also known as Typhoon TSV began carving its path through the perfumery hall in a scented blitzkrieg. Woe betide any living creature that stood in the path of this wrecking whirlwind as it blazed a fiery trail through the aisles of Harrods. After a sharp flurry of intense force, Harrods was divested of its stock, and the typhoon changed its course, heading straight for Harvey Nichols. The crowds there were pathetically thin, a consequence of the poor sales and lack of worthy offerings. With a huff, the beast bounded onto the tube and headed for Green Park where Fortnum and Mason resided.

The beast rageth


Now, hell hath no fury like a Smelly Vagabond kept from his sales. Fortnum and Mason had not begun their sales, not one bit; absolutely nothing was discounted. Letting out a humongous roar of despair, the beast slammed the door of Fortnum behind it, eyes glittering with rage. It would devour this place come Boxing Day. Undeterred by this setback, it leapt towards Liberty, a favourite haunt that it was sure would not disappoint. But lo and behold, the forces of nature were unkind to this poor soul, and the sales had yet to begin, once again. Now resigned to its fate, the beast began to head back…

But wait! There was one last territory it had yet to conquer: Selfridges. Performing a sharp about-turn, it leapt and bound towards the store with the yellow bags, only to find that Selfridges had failed to follow in the footsteps of Harrods in starting its sales early. The beast sighed. It was true what the advertisments on the London Underground said: “There is only one sale. Harrods.” While the other department stores languished on their laurels, the Cash Man at Harrods was laughing all the way to the bank as he had completely destroyed the rest of the competition. Thoughtfully, the beast returned to its lair 3 hours after it had first started, licking its aching wounds and its achy breaky heart. There, it rested, knowing that in 3 days’ time it would be out to hunt again. It had already secured first blood at Harrods. It would soon be time for a feast, it just had to be patient…

~ The Smelly Vagabond