Mrs Hamilbutton has gone to perform at a gig, so I'm at home. On my own. I don't smoke any more, so that avenue of enjoyment is out of the window (still miss a smoke though. Sigh.) There's sod all on tele (unless you like Strictly Come Dancing) so I'm riding the crest of the digital wave, finding interesting stuff. And here's the first one of tonight, a tip-top mash up by Wax Audio (bless you, sir or madam) of Pink Floyd and the Bee Gees. It shouldn't work. It bloody does.
A recent day out reminded me how much the retail experience has altered during my lifetime – and it’s not all good. I could stop typing this, and buy a fridge, in a matter of seconds. The shops are shut and it’s 9pm, but I could still place the order and arrange delivery. I haven’t got to wander round a white-goods retail emporium trying to work out which slightly different version of something that keeps my cider cold is better. It’ll be cheaper, too. But in amongst the convenience, endless choice and bargains, we’ve lost some of the personal, human, touches that used to make a trip to the shops something more than just a daily chore. Last weekend, we visited a local coastal town. Amongst the shops selling over-priced imported home accessories (who doesn’t need another roughly-hewn wooden heart, poorly painted and a bargain at £10?) was one that looked different. It’s window allowed you to see in, rather than being plastered with stick-on graphics and special offers calling ...
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