Farewell, Old Friend

Well, I have survived the rigours of Christmas........actually, between you, me and the gatepost, there were few rigours to cope with as not much happened. Mrs B was (and still is) bed-bound with some nasty sick-y, chest-y malaise so no traumas of Christmas lunch, no subtly leaving the room as the sprouts took effect and no groaning and dozing for the rest of the day.

In fact, truth be told, I was a bit dicky myself so Christmas was all a bit anti-climactic apart from the visits of the young Bassetts who showered me with a cornucopeia of gifts on Christmas Day and introduced me to the ridiculously funny board game called Balderdash on Boxing Day. I might just mention at this juncture, my beautiful young 18 year old, butter-wouldn't-melt-in-her-mouth daughter who has never ever sworn in my presence before but let herself down rather badly after a particularly shrewd ploy of mine during the aforesaid board game. Anyway, sweetie, I have a birth certificate to prove what you called me isn't true!!

I am, as usual, moving away from the subject in hand viz. a farewell to an old friend. Who is this, I hear you ask? Could it be an epitaph to Harold Pinter? Might it be the passing of my dressing gown (replaced by a rather snazzy M & S grey marl version)? Is it a precursor to the wailing and gnashing of teeth as Brighton & Hove Albion slides inexorably from the nondescript region of Division One to the barren wastes of Division Two? Is it possible I am bidding goodbye to the gremlins perched sardine-like on both shoulders? Nope, it's a tribute to the great institution that we know as Woolworths.

When I was a child and we ventured from the cave into the realms of civilisation, there were several chain stores. Obviously nothing like today: you still had small shops where people called you Sir and Madam and you were sent for "half a pound of bacon and not too fatty" from your local butcher. I remember we had Home & Colonial, Mence Smiths hardware store and the biggest of the lot (whose name escapes me) where, after one had paid, the cash was placed in a container which would zoom along the most amazing system of cables across the ceiling to the central citadel where a large, superior-looking woman sat like a giant spider - custodian of the dosh. The one which always stood out however was F W Woolworth & Co. It was a veritable treasure trove where a small boy could wander and wonder at the vast array within.

I can still remember getting lost in there and standing in the middle of the store bawling my head off until a nice lady rescued me and reunited me with my mother. The traumas of this stayed with me for some time but I eventually managed to re-enter the confines without tying a safety rope around my waist and attaching the other end to the entrance doors. In those days, Ladybird clothes were the must-have of the cool kid and shoelaces were a necessity. The floors were always really shiny and great for sliding and the biscuit counter was at exactly the right level for young eyes to gaze in lust. I also have to say that Portslade Woolworth was tthe scene of the one and only time I have ever shoplifted (a packet of Polos, I seem to recall).


Both my children earned their first pay packets as Saturday staff at Woolies and, even in the last decade, there was always something there to capture my interest. Pick 'n Mix of course was always an attraction and I remember going in to see my son once and him standing there chatting to us as, much to her embarrassment, he shovelled large amounts of Pick 'n Mix into Mrs B's bag and pockets. He also related the story of having to redo all the bins as there were some little beetle-like things inhabiting them and - best of the lot - the eccentric lady who was banned from the store after weeing in the aforesaid Pick 'n Mix bins!!

I popped into my local Woolies today and it was a sad sight. Like vultures stripping the bones of a once great warrior, the people latched onto the last bargains. Having said that, they were flogging off the sealed boxes of Pick 'n Mix so I was tempted with a 3.5kg boz of strawberry cables marked down from their retail equivalent of £20 to a mere £10. I took it to the checkout and the young lad explained that there was a further 50% reduction hence he could only accept 5 of our glorious English pounds. I reacted rather like John McEnroe doubting the presence of the Prisoner of Azkhaban ("You cannot be Sirius!"), told him I would be back shortly and, cutting a long story short, added 3 more boxes of apple cables (spot the deliberate mistake here!), Haribo liquorice wheels and strawberry sweethearts to my purchases. I now have 14kg of sweets for the princely sum of £20 and the plan to start my diet regime after the New Year might just be in jeopardy.

A suitable memorial perhaps but I shall still miss the old girl. After all, where else do I go if I need some stick-on soles in a hurry? Where else can I wile away a few minutes watching a TV demo of the latest JML gadget?

RIP Woolies - you'll be sorely missed. You were an anachronism in this modern world but you were part of Life.



PS I make no apologies for the new juke box selection - Christmas is a time to indulge!