BOOM! the Christmas message that pounces on yo ass without so much as warning jingle from the red-nosed homeboy at the front of my ride... wassup foo's? General Crimbo is here again, this year with a special xmas shopping de-briefing.
i suffered for you - take what you can and learn from it. good luck soldiers...
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DATE:December 14th
LOCATION:Bournemouth
MISSION:Christmas gifts
im wrapped up in heavy coat, scarf and hat. i pull my gloves on slowly and flex my fingers, i check my watch - the time has come 13.23. hopefully most of the early fighting is over and i'll find relative calm for the mission. lock n' load, im going in...
first strike TK-MAXX at 13.26 and heaving is not the word, adrenalin starts to kick in and i force myself out of second thought u-turn at the entrance - battle commences. female clothes section - too many variables size/colour/style - move on. random shelves of plunder - excellent so many things to buy, hmmm - on closer inspection so many things that didn't sell in other shops. result: queue length x gift quality = pull out fast.
13.30 Beale's department store... my eyes scan the reconnaissance map nailed to the wall but im disappointed by the lack of a 'perfect xmas presents - happiness guaranteed dept' i dive into what appears to be a camouflage locker housing a bewildering array of makeup, jewellery, snazzy wigs and other glitzy madness. i look around the entire floor... too sparkly, too much, too pointless, too many people in face, why am i here?! 13.34 damn too fussy. down to the basement, surely this is infact Osanta-Bin-Laden's grotto and his chief Elf is down here hand carving me the trinket to end all trinkets - my senses heighten. after a quick sweep it's a negative on Osanta, Elf or trinket - i leave the fine bone china stand at 13.40 trying to recall if the stuff is actually made of fine bone or if that's just a vicious rumour. unable to face a stairwell of pushy sods with big bags im spat back out onto the street.
13.43 i force my way into 'Lush' (the arty soap shop) it smells divine but full of female combatants, i've no idea where to start and at the risk of yelling at an assistant "what part of the body is this best used on?" i flush the place in 12 seconds - better days have been had. i gaze out across the no-mans-land of the town centre to see creatures of all shapes and sizes scurrying between the myriad wooden shelters, the owners of whom ply their sweets, silk scarves, overpriced snow globes and bratwursts. the creatures disappointingly turn out to be human and unsurprisingly the sausage hut is the most active... i briefly wonder if a bratwurst would keep till xmas day and whether wrapping paper would help or hinder it's survival.
13.47 i enter the devastation of a tumble down Borders bookshop - what the hell happened here? the remaining staff make a valiant last stand, as things fall down around them they're admirably still stacking shelves and telling people where Clarkson's latest can't be found. i see the hatred in the eyes of one young recruit as a punter complains about the filing order of the books in the history section... "let the anger flow through you my friend - lash out, you've nothing to lose - you've a 400 page hardback in your hands, show him the true meaning of the word history". my dreams of staff mutiny and them joining forces with me come to nothing - this place is dust, digital is the future of books anyhow... i move out at 13.55.
avoiding the square i take cover in the trees and scamper across the park to the west-side of town - it's a short but needed respite from the battle. things here are looking even more intense, i shoulder barge through the door of Debenhams at 13.58 and am instantly consumed by the noxious gas of the perfumery section... in a slow-motion stumble i drift in and out of a dreamlike deja vu, it's the nightmare of Beales all over again (albeit hotter and with a marginally younger clientèle). confused by the layout and dizzied by stairwells my exit strategy is unnecessarily hindered.
14.03 - "haven't you all got jobs to get back to!? save yourselves!" i breathe deeply and negotiate my way north toward god knows what through a weary column of front-line shoppers returning home. Boots, Superdrug and Body Shop are all full of things i just wasn't trained for. what exactly goes on in those mysterious feminine sanctuaries? oils, soaps, aroma crystals, sponges, perfumes, fragrances, cremes, gels it's all the same isn't it?! but what if it isn't? i could end up pulling off a most heinous spa-faux-pas on xmas morning and, what if i've selected the wrong type of puff, pad, stick, bud or wad to apply this gunge?! fear prevents a purchase.
the sands of time are running out it's 14.12 - one last ditch attempt at another shop - BHS just because it's close... turns out to be an instant fail, there's a lot of ageing war wounded having problems working the doors - no time for this. i screech past a very temporary xmas shop which brings a whole new meaning to the word 'tat' the place is full of urchins picking through the diseased rubbish. where else? could Marks n' Spencers be my saviour?
no, it couldn't and without so much as an ammo box of festive biscuits (which are actually just biscuits) i've found nothing. abort! abort! get out of there soldier. mission called off at 2.18 and the long sad trek back to base begins.
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remember, sometimes your best isn't good enough and you'll need to retreat but at least you live to fight another day.
so as i lay here shell-shocked, consigned to my bed and sipping mulled wine i hand you this crumpled, torn and burnt-edged message.
i wish you all a very Merry Christmas folks.
LukeSanderClaus - over and out.
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