Skip to main content

A fisful of change at the shops

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 beguilingly. Through this expanse of unexpected clarity, it was possible to see large, unfamiliar, areas of floor, the modern trend for cramming shelving in seeming to have passed it by.

The door wasn’t a modern all-glass thing, but old and painted, decades of gloss blurring the divide between glass panels and timber. A step back in time occurred when crossing the threshold.

A random mixture of tins, packets and jars were laid out sparsely on the few shelves, themselves hand-made many years ago, rather than manufactured and installed by a crack team of shop fitters.

A low, refrigerated, cabinet ran the width of the shop at the back, with cheeses laid out with comfortable spaces between them. Some of the walls and shelves of the store had cups and saucers, and old kitchen items on them – purely for decorative purposes, rather than the modern need to ‘pile it high, sell it cheap’.

Once we had selected items, the polite, elderly, lady at the counter checked the labels on the packets (no barcodes!), wrote the prices on a piece of paper, then expertly added them up and give us the price. A tenner changed hands, and without the aid of a till, correct change proffered. She even did something I’d long forgotten, giving us the small change first and counting up to the next pound, then the pound coins to make the round figure.

It was the weekend. No-one else came in the shop whilst we were there. I can only assume the lady must own it, as I can’t imagine she could be making anywhere near enough to pay rent.

As we left, I had to check over my shoulder to make sure the shop was still there, and I hadn’t just imagined it.

We don’t ‘do’ shops like that any more. And even if I can buy something online, in my pants, in the middle of the night for less money, I’m still the poorer for that.

This post first appeared as my "Thank grumpy it's Friday" column in the North West Evening Mail on the 11th of April 2014. You can view it on the paper's website here. The only alteration made this week was to the title, which they changed to 'Sold on the old curiosity shop' - fair play, that's actually a better title than mine.

I was genuinely touched by the strange old shop, and could have written at least twice as much as I did. I had to lose getting on for 70 words from the finished version too, to get down to the required 500. I described this process on twitter as like having to trample a load of kittens to make sure that the remaining ones had enough space to play.

Sadly, shops like this one are almost entirely gone. Replaced with convenience stores selling a wider variety at lower prices, the remaining ones will vanish too, unless they choose to embrace their retro nature and become a 'novelty' shop. Like the modern, plasticy, versions of old Bakelite telephones, with push buttons imitating the dial, they'll look like the real thing, but lack the genuine substance and charm of the original.

(Yup. Still on the home-made mash-up CD's. Current one is from October '05.)

Comments

  1. Totally agree with your sentiments. Just spent a pleasant morning in Grange buying food in separate shops for greengrocery, butchery, wine and a fantastic ironmongers which prompted me to exclaim 'I didn't know you could still get those' I don't know if they make sufficient money but the world would be a sadder place without such places.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks for your comment - apologies for not spotting it sooner! Ah, ironmongers... The really good ones would sell you any quantity of nut bolt or screw you wanted in a little paper bag. Ask for a certain size of something in a DIY Superstore, and you'll get directed to an aisle where (if they've even got what you want) you can buy a pack of 100 that needs a Stanley knife to open.

      They don't make 'em like they used to...

      Delete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

"It's all gone quiet..." said Roobarb

If, like me, you grew up (and I’m aware of the irony in that) in the ‘70s, February was a tough month, with the sad news that Richard Briers and Bob Godfrey had died. Briers had a distinguished acting career and is, quite rightly, fondly remembered most for his character in ‘The Good Life’. Amongst his many roles, both serious and comedic, he also lent his voice to a startling bit of animation that burst it’s wobbly way on to our wooden-box-surrounded screens in 1974. The 1970s seemed to be largely hued in varying shades of beige, with hints of mustard yellow and burnt orange, and colour TV was a relatively new experience still, so the animated adventures of a daft dog and caustic cat who were the shades of dayglo green and pink normally reserved for highlighter pens, must have been a bit of a shock to the eyes at the time. It caused mine to open very wide indeed. Roobarb was written by Grange Calveley, and brought vividly into life by Godfrey, whose strange, shaky-looking sty...

Suffering from natural obsolescence

You know you’re getting old when it dawns on you that you’re outliving technological breakthroughs. You know the sort of thing – something revolutionary, that heralds a seismic shift it the way the modern world operates. Clever, time-saving, breathtaking and life-changing (and featuring a circuit board). It’s the future, baby! Until it isn’t any more. I got to pondering this when we laughed heartily in the office about someone asking if our camcorder used “tape”. Tape? Get with the times, Daddy-o! If it ain’t digital then for-get-it! I then attempted to explain to an impossibly young colleague that video tape in a camcorder was indeed once a “thing”, requiring the carrying of something the size of a briefcase around on your shoulder, containing batteries normally reserved for a bus, and a start-up time from pressing ‘Record’ so lengthy, couples were already getting divorced by the time it was ready to record them saying “I do”. After explaining what tape was, I realised I’d ...

Shouting in the social media mirror

It was always tricky to fit everything you wanted into the intentionally short character count of Twitter, especially when, like me, you tend to write ridiculously long sentences that keep going on and on, with no discernible end in sight, until you start wondering what the point was in the first place. The maximum length of a text message originally limited a tweet to 140 characters, due to it being a common way to post your ramblings in Twitter’s early days. Ten years later, we’ve largely consigned texting to the tech dustbin, and after a lot of angst, the social media platform’s bigwigs have finally opted to double your ranting capacity to 280. Responses ranged from “You’ve ruined it! Closing my account!” to the far more common “Meh” of modern disinterest. As someone rightly pointed out, just because you have twice as much capacity doesn’t mean you actually have to use it. It is, of course, and excellent opportunity to use the English language correctly and include punctuat...