You know the drill. You tell yourself you’ll get there early to grab a “good spot.” By good spot, you mean a patch of pavement where you can at least see the top of a lamppost. Instead, you end up in a crowd so dense that your personal space becomes a distant memory, like wearing pants that actually fit. Everyone is doing the awkward shuffle, a dance move that involves stepping on at least three strangers’ toes while pretending to check your phone.
I saw one bloke try to take a panoramic photo. He ended up capturing the back of someone’s head, a pigeon’s foot, and what looked like a half-eaten kebab. It’s a vibe. A very specific, cold, and slightly sticky vibe.
The Pre-Show Panic
Then the crowd goes quiet, which is terrifying because 50,000 people suddenly holding their breath sounds like a giant, anxious whale. A presenter, usually someone from a reality show you swore you’d never watch, screams into a microphone. The sound bounces off the shop windows, making your ears ring. You can’t hear a thing, but you clap anyway because everyone else is clapping.
It’s like being at a very loud, very bright church service where the sermon is about shopping. And we love it. We love the communal misery and the shared hope that maybe, just maybe, this year the lights will be turned on by a golden retriever instead of a pop star. (Spoiler: it was a pop star. A very nice one, but still.)
Celebrate Christmas 2026 on Oxford Street | Oxford Street
