Yesterday
Hannah, Victoria and I went to Victoria Square to visit
the closest thing Belfast has to a mall. The Square was named for Queen
Victoria, as is almost everything else in Belfast, for it was under her reign
that Belfast had its golden age. Just a few minutes’ walk from the Square is
the leaning Prince Albert Clocktower, also a tribute to the Queen and her loyal
husband. We were looking mostly for clothes, and I was able to see the kind of
clothes people buy here—and see just how much the pound is really worth. Some
of the more posh stores we visited had price tags in euros and dollars, and
clothing that was 40 or 50 pounds translated to over a hundred dollars U.S. It’s
not really a surprise that none of us bought anything, although we did have fun
trying clothes on.
The
dresses here are cut low in the front, coming to about our knees, whilst in the
back the dresses float on to the ankles. I personally find this fashion
comfortable, albeit a little strange when tried on. There are more sweaters
here than in the States, most of them knitted, and some of them with leather
bands by the elbow, so that they don’t wear out too soon, I think. All of the
fabrics were soft, and comfortable; most of the shirts had birds or skulls on
them. However, the style that surprised me most were the trousers—there aren’t
as may jeans here as there are Stateside; there are tight-fitting trousers of
different colours, burgundy, dark blue, green, gray. All of the trousers, jeans
included, are actually tight-fitting.
“It’s
like they never heard of bell-bottoms!” Hannah said with frustration as we
looked at a store display of boot-cut jeans.
Everything
was very creative and fashionable; everyone here in Ireland, actually, has more
style than I dreamt possible. I can’t possibly hope to keep up—especially with
the prices!
After
we had visited enough clothing stores, we went to Build-a-Bear, where Victoria
and I rejoiced in our inner childishness and Hannah gazed on with a long-suffering
expression, and then we went to Friday’s for dinner.
While
I didn’t buy anything yesterday, I have been buying a few books. I finally got
my copy of Harry Potter and the
Philosopher’s Stone, at the very dear price of 3.75.
Why did I spend so
much, you ask?
I
spent that much for the inscription.
For
those of you who can’t read it, it is a letter dated 1 December, 2001.
Rebecca (it
reads),
I hope you enjoy this magical book.
It’s almost as magical as the last 12 months have been! (But not quite). I love
you very much and I’m honoured to be entering into our second year together. If
it’s half as good as 2000-01 it will be magic too!
Love for ever and ever,
Mark
My
first immediate response was That is my
name, and that is Marky’s name, and my second was sorrow. Why was this book
in a second-hand bookstore? Had they broken up? It was so many years ago, 2000;
twelve years, in fact. And now this book was in my hands.
But
my third reaction was perhaps the most valid; and it was laughter. That was my
name, and that was Marky’s name, and I felt as if he had guided me to this
book, and it was his way of saying, I am
here, watching over you, and I love you.
So
I bought the book, and it rests on my bookshelf, and when I look at it I
remember that I am loved, too; and that I am loved by the angels.
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