In other news
May. 3rd, 2008 01:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceI really, really must not spend money where there is no need. I saved two hundred quid today by virtue of hanging on to that thought, but I was perilously close to spending it. For I am a bag-and-jacket queen, and pockets will get me, every time. Nearly every time. *is susceptible*
We have a department store in Newcastle, called Fenwick's. It's one of those organic survivors from its original base, growing slowly by knocking through into its neighbours and adding extensions at the back and building upwards and and and. When I first came to the city, we thought that you needed to be born here to know your way around Fenwick's, we thought it was genetic. A quarter of a century of study has led me to dispute that; I can now find my way around quite easily. At least I could, until this week. Realising that I had pretty much solved their mazes, they went all sneaky, and turned the escalators around. Really truly: those that went up now go down, and vice versa. Aaargh! *is confused again*
They knew, of course, that people would be thrown by this: why do it, else? So they have stationed young persons at the heads and feet of every escalator, to point out that it now goes the other way. I am all in favour of young people standing around being decorative, I think there should be more of it, but they must be bored out of their minds, because this is the most pointless, useless job in the universe. Of course our feet take us along well-established habitual routes, to what is now the wrong escalator; we get there, and we look at it, and we see that it is going the wrong way. And then we see the young people, who smile and shake their heads. And we roll our eyes, and go away again. If we linger, they say "Sorry, they've turned them all around." Which, yes. This is self-evident. Presumably the kids get paid, but I don't think it's enough.
Still, I wove my way through the store, and did not come home with a new bag or a jacket or a camera, though it was a pretty close call. I did come home with mushrooms, and now I am going to make Soup. Capital Soup, because I have more mushrooms than you imagine. Probably not more than you can imagine, I have some respect for your abilities in that direction; but still, many many mushrooms. Five or six pounds, at a guess. For a quid. So, yes. Fungal soup, with an excess of fung.
We have a department store in Newcastle, called Fenwick's. It's one of those organic survivors from its original base, growing slowly by knocking through into its neighbours and adding extensions at the back and building upwards and and and. When I first came to the city, we thought that you needed to be born here to know your way around Fenwick's, we thought it was genetic. A quarter of a century of study has led me to dispute that; I can now find my way around quite easily. At least I could, until this week. Realising that I had pretty much solved their mazes, they went all sneaky, and turned the escalators around. Really truly: those that went up now go down, and vice versa. Aaargh! *is confused again*
They knew, of course, that people would be thrown by this: why do it, else? So they have stationed young persons at the heads and feet of every escalator, to point out that it now goes the other way. I am all in favour of young people standing around being decorative, I think there should be more of it, but they must be bored out of their minds, because this is the most pointless, useless job in the universe. Of course our feet take us along well-established habitual routes, to what is now the wrong escalator; we get there, and we look at it, and we see that it is going the wrong way. And then we see the young people, who smile and shake their heads. And we roll our eyes, and go away again. If we linger, they say "Sorry, they've turned them all around." Which, yes. This is self-evident. Presumably the kids get paid, but I don't think it's enough.
Still, I wove my way through the store, and did not come home with a new bag or a jacket or a camera, though it was a pretty close call. I did come home with mushrooms, and now I am going to make Soup. Capital Soup, because I have more mushrooms than you imagine. Probably not more than you can imagine, I have some respect for your abilities in that direction; but still, many many mushrooms. Five or six pounds, at a guess. For a quid. So, yes. Fungal soup, with an excess of fung.