Sunday morning, brings the dawn in

My Chihuahua and I spend our Sunday mornings taking our favourite stroll around Mayfair. We walk down Jermyn Street and enter the plague pit latterly known as Green Park via a secret passage in front of the Stamford Hotel. We march all the way up to Hyde Park corner then follow the path to the Piccadilly entrance carefully averting our eyes away from the vulgar paintings displayed there. We cross Piccadilly and enter Shepherds Market via Down Street with its old disused underground station. Passing through the market we go east to Berkeley Square stopping at Starbucks on the way. Sitting on a bench in the square we feed pigeons, taking special care to give extra to any particularly scruffy or sick looking birds (we love an underdog) and share a muffin. The dog doesn’t drink skinny latte but occasionally has an espresso cup of tap for hydration. Later we cross Berkeley Square and enter Mount Street, there we divert into the Farm Street gardens and re-emerge on Mount Street pretty much opposite Marc Jacobs. We look in the window at Marc, then Balenciaga, then Louboutin. I read the menu at Scott’s every week to see if they have improved their vegetarian options at all. Every week I shriek YUK at the Stargazzy Pie (little fish heads set in pastry staring upwards – fuck that!) We march back over the north end of Berkeley Square to Bruton Place which even on a Sunday when Margiela is closed still smells of the patchouli perfume they pump onto the street. We end up on the corner of Bond Street by Hermes who today were fixing enormous silver trees to the facade of the shop. Most of Bond Street was filled with commercial decorators attaching Christmas decorations to the front of the expensive stores in the drizzle this morning. By next Sunday it will look beautiful.