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Arkwright - The Independent Voice
In this country, bank holiday weekend and good weather are words not readily associated with each other but they certainly were over the first May bank holiday recently. Combined with that, in the current climate, the words good trading day are a bit of a rarity so to find I had a hat trick with bank holiday, sunny weather and good trading was excellent.
I was delighted with how well things had gone, particularly as a new Saturday Girl had started working for us and she hadn't put a foot wrong; in fact her contribution to the success of the day was evident. She'd done a great job in persuading a number of young men their attire was looking a little tired and advised them on how to restyle themselves, most couldn't resist her charms and she rang up their purchases with a cheeky grin. A bit of harmless flirting enhances most people's day and, on this occasion, my till. However, it was at the end of the afternoon that I wondered if Little Miss Dynamite had surpassed her sales technique. Feeling confident in her abilities I sneaked off to the shelter of the stock room wanting to complete the challenge of a sudoku I'd started while eating my lunch. Just minutes later I overheard a man's voice, "I'm in urgent need of some tennis balls", seemingly in a rush because he sounded breathless. "Before you worry about your balls matey, you urgently need some new shorts and a jock strap...", good girl I thought until she added "...'cos those shorts you're wearing are far too small and your willy's hanging out". Aahhh! Flirtation is one thing, this probably crossed the boundaries of sexual harassment but I wasn't sure who was harassing whom! I went to investigate. Saturday Girl, without any sign of embarrassment, was ordering the flasher into the changing room emphatic that he wasn't to appear again until all was safely tucked in the support shorts she passed him.
Following on from my short-lived modelling career last year, I've enjoyed further media interest this month. I moved on to radio interviews and even a short burst on the local TV news, all in an effort to publicise the green credentials of our town. At school I was always the first to offer to be in charge of props, programmes or publicity for productions, anything to avoid having to speak on stage so I was nervous, unlike our tennis playing friend, at the thought of exposing myself (verbally in my case) to the media glare and thought I'd be stammering through "you knows", "I means" and "err umms" while trying to get my point across. As it turned out things went rather smoothly I thought, until I heard some of the broadcasts later in the day; unfortunately I sounded like Ruth Kelly on helium meaning hopes of any offers to do voiceovers now seem unlikely.
I enjoy watching snooker, and selling more cues and accessories as a result of it being on the telly, so what I am about to say is not a criticism of the game, moreover I appreciate the need for sponsorship. However, isn't it ironic that the World Championship once sponsored by a cigarette company, until banned from so doing by the Government in recognition of cigarettes being bad for you, is now sponsored by an online gambling company. Cigarettes ruin lives insidiously over years while gambling, which can be as addictive as tobacco, can potentially ruin lives far quicker, in minutes even, if people bet beyond their means. This possibility can't have occurred to the Government but then why should it when they wanted to see casinos popping up across the country and are prepared to approve the Bank of England putting up an enormous sum of money for banks who themselves make a habit of gambling recklessly. Another well thought-through practice of the stunning leadership we have at present.
Meantime they swing the axe mercilessly at Post Offices to the inconvenience of most of us. Our local MP was vocal in his support of keeping the second Post Office in our town open but when he was called on to vote in Parliament he played the Judas card and voted with the government for closures, justifying his actions with some convoluted excuse. It was less than a month before the situation came round and slapped him squarely in the face...the main PO was subjected to a spot audit which it failed, the result being it was immediately closed (for a week as it turned out) leaving the town completely without any of the services unique to the Post Office. At this point, to save his face, the MP audaciously said he'd man the counter himself. Most of the town thought we'd be better off with Postman Pat's cat, not only on the counter but in the House of Commons too.
