The Rest of the World

Christmas windows: Here in Kiribati I murmur a qualified agreement when expatriates say how pleased they are to be away from the manic pre-Christmas rush and stress, the advertising assault and the lengthy to-do lists. As happy as I am to be out of range of the TV advertising, I would though be very pleased to have an afternoon and evening in and out of some of the world’s great department stores, perhaps in London's Piccadilly or Boulevard Haussmann in Paris, to be part of the cashmere-coated crowds, each shopper laden with stylish carry bags. I would be there, in front on the decorated windows, edging the crowd aside to get a better view. When in Paris last year I noticed that at one store a narrow viewing platform had been built in front of each window for children to better view the displays. I was tempted. The windows of Printemps in Paris were amazing: all the traditional props, but also very innovative, using new colour combinations and dramatic scenes. Fortnam and Mason won the London prize for best windows I think. As the stores on Piccadilly were closing a friend and I lingered at the their delightful vignettes featuring luxurious fabrics, silver, antiques, glassware and burnished reflections. The windows in the Copenhagen stores are always animpressive display of Danish design and innovation. I loved being part of the excitement of a wintry Christmas in Denmark, treading tentatively through the snow, weaving with the crowd along Stroget, the central walking street. A Christmas dinner at a friend's home in Denmark with her family is a highlight of my Christmas memories. Her home glittered with polished silver, mirrored chandeliers, wavy glass windows overlooking a frozen lake, traditional hand crafted decorations and of course the traditional food, followed by dancing around the tree. The freezing chill would be forgotten when walking in Copenhagen in the winter, as views through windows would completely entertain me - flickering candelabras with real candles, elaborate gilded frames containing the ancestors, extravagant curtains and swags. I am an elite athlete in the sport of sticky nosing. In Odense once with my parents, the home town of Hans Christian Anderson, I could not resist a closer view of the arrangements of flowers, wreaths, candles, glassware and pottery on the window sills abutting the footpaths, along with a quick glimpse of the decor inside. If you are a resident in Odense or elsewhere in Europe, I apologise now if you were once having a private dinner with your family when you spotted my flattened tourist face up against your centuries-old, hand-blown glass window pane.