By Angela Garwood
I feel as though I blinked and it’s 2024, then I blinked again and it’s April 2024. Two more blinks and it’ll be Christmas. No thank you.
We’ve had several adventures over the Easter holidays, the first being a trip to London with my cousins to see Matilda the musical.
We went for dinner at Imad’s Syrian Kitchen (Imad wasn’t there, Maia asked, we’d just missed him) and delighted in Mutuma Batata and Shish Tawook.
The musical was magical until a young girl projectile vomited onto the stairs in front of her. Of course, I was on the aisle, right near those stairs. My hand, and another woman’s trousers suffered a light spray. I hated myself in the moments that followed for having zero compassion for this poor girl. All I could think was “DID IT GET IN MY HAIR?”
Her and her family made a swift exit and I was left trying to focus on the stage while a member of staff shovelled cat litter on what remained. Matilda, for the record, was epic.
Good Friday was spent in Marlow trying to find parking (well, the first part, after three car parks we gave up and abandoned the car on a residential road). After a family lunch in Fego, we wandered round the shops, soon finding ourselves in a rather high-end art gallery.
“Ladies, can I interest you in a cold glass of Prosecco?” A woman from the gallery seemed to spring out of nowhere.
“Oh, okay, thank you!” my cousin responded, slightly taken by surprise.
“No thanks, I’m not really a fan of fizz…” I said, honest as ever.
“Red wine? White wine? Tea? Coffee?” She bounced back, seemingly without blinking.
“No thank you..” I insisted, soon noticing a small sculpture valued at £14,000.
“That painting is £54,000…” I said to my cousin Rachel as we meandered round the room.
“Maia, darling, do not touch anything.”
Maia’s day was made purely browsing in Space NK, a makeup and skincare shop. Much to my horror, my ten year old knew exactly what brands she was looking for, and was not fazed by the prices. “Can I get something and I’ll pay you back?!” She said, trying her luck.
“NO.” And that was the end of Space NK.
It was not, however, the end of the makeup conversation. “Can we go to Sephora?!” has been something of a mantra the last few months. (Sephora: another makeup and skincare shop.)
Eventually I gave in and agreed to take Maia to Sephora. Off we trekked yesterday to Shepherd’s Bush, home to Westfield; home to the almighty mothership that is Sephora.
“We might have to queue to get in,” Maia warned me on the train.
Great, it’s one of those stores. I was taken back to 15-year-old me, queuing with a friend for a photo with an Abercrombie and Fitch model in their Regent Street store. I probably still have the polaroid somewhere.
And yes it was one of those stores. No male models, just lots of teenage girls on a mission. I noticed a fair few around Maia’s age, all with their mothers. It was slightly unnerving, all the mini-mes searching for their must-have makeup products. I wanted to round them up and drag them to Waterstones.
It was hot and over-crowded, so I made it very clear it was a grab-and-go situation. I was not going to faint in a shopping centre. We made it out in good timing and Maia spent the rest of the afternoon beaming with her new purchases. A happy Easter indeed.
Angela blogs at The Colourful Kind
