MAYBE I should go and look for some presents now. What do you think? Ach, there’s plenty time. I know it’s Christmas Eve, but Woolies will be open till six.
Good old Woolies. Always there when we need something at the last minute. Where would we be without it?
Tesco is handy, too, being open all night. Except not at the weekend. Not here, anyway. But is it a good idea? There are some funny people about.
And I should know. Soon after I moved to London, I found myself in a supermarket in Fulham at about three in the morning. Just what was so urgent that necessitated a dash to the medical aisle at that hour escapes me right now, but I remember the people who were in there all right.
They were a tad weird. Some were punks with safety pins through their noses and other places; some had obviously not made it home from the night before and were loudly demanding extra-large cigarette papers, and some were wearing slippers and talking to themselves. The assistant was deeply exasperated and I think she was swearing in some African dialect.
The only half-sensible person in there was me.
It is funny when that dawns on you. I liked it. Made me smile. Then I was brought sharply to my senses when I realised a very large lorry driver with a skull and crossbones burned on to his arm was winking back at me.
I tell you I was off up that King’s Road and racing back to the flat as if I were pursued by a pack of mad dogs with rabies and carrying burning torches in their mouths.
Not that I am saying the 3am shoppers in Shell Street will all be a bit barking, but you know what I mean. They may be a bit, er, talkative – particularly at this time of the year.
“Jusht got up for shomething to help me shleep. But itsh sho much better value to buy the big bottlesh. Shank you very much and goodnight.”
Women are so much better at the Christmas presents thing. It is actually a very difficult and painful time for most of us men. We have no idea what to get anyone else. We just haven’t a clue. Except me. I know now. I’m going to get herself a kettle.
I am just being super-practical. It’ll help her to have a quality appliance that will make the job quicker for her when I shout down from the office asking if there is any chance of a quick cuppa. I might get that one I saw in the Hydro shop. That kettle is claimed to change colour as it heats up to reflect the ambience of the different moods in the kitchen.
It is as well that our pots cannot speak or they might be calling the kettle black if I am late again back from the Carlton on Friday.
I’m only thinking of her, you see. Yes, yes, you could argue that it will help me in a roundabout way, but then it’s not me actually making the brew.
It would take her so much longer to boil the water in a saucepan, for example, so she will benefit. We will all feel the benefit.
It’s a holistic approach to gifting. I must remember that I thought of that one.
However, we are actually lucky with the choice of quality shops here in Stornoway. Credit crunch or not, there are still good ones.
The old Co-op vans and the other mobile shops have left their mark because they were all a bit like the Tardis.
You would think, because of the cramped space inside, that shops on wheels would have not much of a selection of anything on offer. Not so.
Break your spade or inquire after two-stroke for the tractor and the chances are they would have what you were looking for shoved under the dusty wash-hand basin which was usually wedged somewhere in behind the driver’s ear.
Even now, many of our finest retail establishments in the islands keep on the Tardis tradition to save us all shoe leather.
Why, just recently, I popped into KFC and fell prey to the charms of the perky shop assistant, one Mrs Isobel Conning.
After she gave me the spiel, I came out weighed down with fine fragrances from France, a baby’s rattle and something which is reputedly rather splendid for the treatment of period pains.
Why did I take that? I have no such pains. Period. I only went in for a corn plaster.
We are fortunate, indeed, to have KFC in Stornoway. The one thing you cannot buy in it is chicken. It is like no other KFC anywhere.
That’s because our KFC is Kenny Froggan’s, Chemist.
