From South-East to North-West

With a great deal of effort (not to be underestimated!), I have resisted the urge to shout, “I told you so!” extremely loudly and frequently.  Having spent more than twenty years espousing the virtues of East London, and particularly Newham, as ”the centre of the universe”, it is with a measure – and not a small one either – of smugness, that I witness the success of the Olympics. 

That said, I have discovered a new “centre of the universe”, Lancashire; specifically, Southport.  Were you under the misapprehension that Southport was in Merseyside?  No, it is not, it never has been and it never will be.  Southport has a Lancastrian postcode for a reason and sentient beings know why! 

Yesterday, I experienced The Southport Flower Show for the first time.  It was fabulous!  I accept my prejudice against all things non-London and went to Victoria Park with more than a hint of gloom at the potentially parochial nature of the whole event; not a bit of it.  I left – six hours later – vastly humbled by my previous ignorance, inspired by the enthusiasm and skill of numerous craftsmen and craftswomen, and motivated to try to emulate their purposeful activity.

The Show was a combination of Chelsea, various fairs at Olympia and Excel, a little Kew Gardens and a lot of originality.  Entry would be more than doubled, were it held in the capital and one day was insufficient to fully appreciate all that was on offer.  It was intelligent, informative and interesting; words which I haven’t used in connection with a show for a very long time.

Precariously laden, I left with a glow, birthday presents, Christmas presents, invitations to join various clubs and societies and a wonderful whole wild salmon purchased for a song from a fisherman. 

Lancashire is the new “centre of the universe”.  Don’t take my word for it and don’t wait twenty years to realise that I am right!

Welcome To Tesco, Southport

The puppies needed to be protected from their ambition, which far outstretched their maturity; so, with this in mind, we began the process of buying a stair gate from Tesco. What a mistake!
Purchasing the stair gate on-line, using clubcard vouchers, was relatively straightforward. The instructions stated that the card, with which the purchase had been made, should be taken to the store when the item was collected. Clearly, this did not apply to us as we hadn’t used a card. So, with confirmatory e-mail on smart phone, we drove to the store.
At first, everything seemed entirely normal. However, within a matter of moments, we began to enter the territory of the surreal and then, the truly offensive. We provided the order number and were asked for our card. I explained that the gate had been purchased with clubcard vouchers, so we hadn’t brought a credit or debit card with us. Personal ID was demanded and when we confessed that we hadn’t brought any, as there were no instructions to do so, matters took a downward turn. We proferred the smart phone – complete with confirmatory e-mail – and were told that the gate could only be released if we had a printed version of the e-mail. Believing that the situation was merely a slight case of misplaced zeal, we asked to see a manager. Little did we know…
The manager, Mr Revill-Johnson, began by telling us (in front of staff and other customers) that he could not help us. That was followed by the comment that he didn’t know whether we had stolen the phone on which the confirmatory e-mail was displayed – other equally helpful comments were thrown in along the way. When I remarked that such behaviour would be excessive, as we were attempting to collect a £15 stair gate not a widescreen television, he replied, “That’s what all shoplifters say”.
Poor foolish man!
In complete outrage, I barked; “I am not a criminal, I’m a magistrate.”
Clearly, he did not believe me.
When I asked for his name and mentioned that I would be contacting Tesco Head Office, he responded, “Go ahead”. As if I was awaiting his permission…!
Suffice it to say, my stair gate was delivered with flowers and a voucher (both of which I donated to others, as they vexed me further!) and managers with more experience, a better idea of customer service and understanding of the potential cost of defamation of character, apologised.
I am simultaneously furious and depressed that, in 2012, there are still people who believe it is acceptable to make evidence-less allegations on the basis of a person’s ethnicity.
Welcome to Tesco, Southport.

Puppies – Again!

Bentley and Rolo were returned.  The Staffordshire Bull Terrier maiming machine, from next door, was evicted and the coast was clear.  With empty crate and hall syndrome, it was inevitable that we would try the puppy experiment for a second time.

Enzo and Bracken are two Jack Russell/ West Highland Terriers.  We met their parents – a white and tan Jack Russell mother and a Westie father.  Curiously, the pups are brindle!  We suspect that their father was nearly a Westie, rather than really a Westie, as he had sired previous pups which had also been brindle.

There is so little and yet so much to say about the whole experience.  This is definitely the “once-in-my-lifetime” dog owning episode.  Still, I am peculiarly taken with the whole affair.  House training has not been the dreadful excerpt I had previously imagined; strangers now have so much to share; and the combination of sweet faces, no back chat and no demands for money, guarantees canine popularity above teenagers – any day!

It does help that we have plenty of room – both inside and out – a crate, a puppy pen and seemingly endless coastline along which to walk.  It has only been a week (and things can always change), but I would recommend this experience to anyone.