The purple birds are from this Christmas. I wandered down Oxford Street dejected by the lack of decorations, dull grey with the sure and certain knowledge that 2001 had not been a year worth celebrating. Selfridges windows, once a reason in themselves for walking down Oxford street in December, were brutally commercial efforts, brusque as a sign saying BUY. But downstairs there was still the Christmas department, and in the Christmas department you can still buy dreams of a perfect Christmas, disguised as small purple birds.