Bond Street bestows

Well you can only sit around so long waiting for the cavalry. Recently I was bequeathed a gift horse and before I could get too attached to it, decided to liquidize the golden sunflowers painted by John Bratby. Meaning not to put the canvas in the blender but rather give it to Bonhams on Bond Street to auction. So last week we went along to watch it go under the hammer. As we got to the corner where Hermes sits, a gypsy woman plying lucky heather touched Mark's sleeve. Thinking we could do with that we gave her some  coins. "Give us some paper darlin'," she pressed, "it's coming up to Christmas." 

"That's what we're singularly lacking," we explained, "but on our way to conjure if your luck works!" The unlikely oracle promptly dug in her plastic bag and gave us each more charmed talismans before turning yet more intense and giving her dramatic predictions which we will keep to ourselves for now.

The sale was as exciting as going to the races. My beautiful Sunflowers, left to me thanks to the tattoo of the same on my ankle, outstripped its estimate and romped home ahead of another painting by Bratby that had been valued for more. To the left of the auctioneer, next to the tables where the telephone bids were being taken, a screen projected the painting and to the right, the price in British pounds, US dollars and Euros:

When we emerged breathless onto Bond Street there was magic abroad. Snow was falling from the sky while Prancer and Dancer grazed in a paddock. A glance to a lit upper window revealed a shadowy figure in control of the heavenly sugar shaker but sometimes it doesn't matter where or how enchantment is wrought:

Shoppers were serenaded by carol singers while sculptors created a Kelly Bag (I think?!) fit for an Ice Queen (right). Meanwhile Batman and Superman (below) had a camp face-off in bas-relief:

A week earlier Ralph Lauren had shut off Bond Street to stage an altogether spectacular multi-dimensional promotion using their very building as screen. Poler players appeared to thunder out towards the crowd (below, left) while their latest fragrance perfumed the air. At the finale Ralph himself "appeared" to wave from a window and ladies next to me screamed "We love you Ralph!!!" I found the  suspension of belief, the ready suggestibility rather touching. People yearn to be transported. In their window this night was a dress (below, right) startlingly similar to one of my grandma's with now raggedy uneven net hem that my mother is forever entreating me to let her fix:

So we wended our way through Wonderland, and crossed the border between magical Mayfair and more garish Regent Street, encountering fantastical figures as we went, some of whose garbs may or may not find their way into future collections:

But easily the best dressed doorman is Danny, Keeper of the Gateway to our sanctuary-burrow, who was waiting to greet us with customary good cheer, but now in his new hat, acquired that day, to keep the frosty air from his bonce.

And should you wish to know what I want most for Christmas - aside from something from this well-dressed window below - it is for the Gypsy Woman's words to come true.