Gawd help us

So yesterday I shambled into North Finchley to pick up Furtle's Christmas pressie from there Post Office. I wore the elasticated support bandage on my knee and it worked wonders. The pain didn't go away completely, but it was much reduced and I was able to walk without limping, which knackers me beyond belief, making even short journeys ridiculously tiring. I may, however, have bought the damned thing a size too small as by evening my right shin and calf was a different shape to the left. I have a little trouble with water retention in my lower legs because of my blood pressure and the bandage made it a little worse. I think I shall pop out and buy the next size up. That should afford the knee some support without acting as a dam at knee level.

I stuck my head into the Finchley branch of Woollies, which is advertising a sale with 'up to' 50% off. They are not actually advertising it as a closing down sale as such, but it pretty much amounts to that. When the Administrator decides how best to restructure the business, I can't see either the Finchley or Camden branches surviving; both of them are tatty retail train wrecks. The fact that the sale was for 'up to' 50% off was enough to fill the store with people and the queue stretched around about half the aisles available. The DVDs and CDs, other than the really old bargain basement stuff were only reduced by 10%, so it was still in many cases, cheaper to go elsewhere. The pick'n'mix had been picked'n'mixed and I needed none of the toys or household appliances. I expect that next time I hit Finchley, that store will be boarded up. Sad, but there you go. Woolworths in London (or much of London) seemed to forget what it was about years ago. I expect that it will survive in the provinces in the smaller towns, but with the odd exception, I imagine the company's big city days are over.

Waterstones was disappointing, too. I wandered in with the vague aim of picking up a book and although there was a number I liked, they were all too expensive (mainly in the history section). I have been looking on and off for a good Blandings volume, my interest in Wodehouse having been re-awoken recently. There were none. In fact, there were only three Wodehouse books in the store; two Jeeves omnibuses and a Psmith, who no-one ever reads. Between Furtle and me, we have just about all the Jeeves stories in one form or another, so that was a bust. I don't know what happened to my Blandings books, which seem not to have survived either my recent peregrinations or those of my parents over the past few years. Still, in the new year, Everyman are finally getting around to republishing Galahad at Blandings and Summer Lightning in their nice new classic hardback format, so I may treat myself for my 50th.

On the way home, another of the odd denizens of North London crossed my path and this may be a warning for those people who wheel the nuclear accelerators around stitching together rifts in reality: it is bad for you - don't make a career of it. I was on the 263 coming back to Whetstone and the gargoyle of a woman got on the bus, trailing her wheely bag. Being and odd shape myself, I shall merely observe that hers was odder. She looked as though she had faced down the ugly tree and made it whither in shame for not trying hard enough. More to the point, she positioned her wheely so that no one could get up or down the stairs without climbing over or around it and brazenly ignored anyone who made the attempt.

None of this, however, would have made her note worthy, such caddish behaviour being commonplace in these benighted times. No, her claim to fame resides entirely in the words of her conversation with another woman of her acquaintance with whom she was deep in conversation across the bus aisle. Her friend, occupying a pair of seats by herself, udged along a bit and asked if she would like to sit?

"No thank you, dear. I have cataracts."

Gawd help us

So yesterday I shambled into North Finchley to pick up Furtle's Christmas pressie from there Post Office. I wore the elasticated support bandage on my knee and it worked wonders. The pain didn't go away completely, but it was much reduced and I was able to walk without limping, which knackers me beyond belief, making even short journeys ridiculously tiring. I may, however, have bought the damned thing a size too small as by evening my right shin and calf was a different shape to the left. I have a little trouble with water retention in my lower legs because of my blood pressure and the bandage made it a little worse. I think I shall pop out and buy the next size up. That should afford the knee some support without acting as a dam at knee level.

I stuck my head into the Finchley branch of Woollies, which is advertising a sale with 'up to' 50% off. They are not actually advertising it as a closing down sale as such, but it pretty much amounts to that. When the Administrator decides how best to restructure the business, I can't see either the Finchley or Camden branches surviving; both of them are tatty retail train wrecks. The fact that the sale was for 'up to' 50% off was enough to fill the store with people and the queue stretched around about half the aisles available. The DVDs and CDs, other than the really old bargain basement stuff were only reduced by 10%, so it was still in many cases, cheaper to go elsewhere. The pick'n'mix had been picked'n'mixed and I needed none of the toys or household appliances. I expect that next time I hit Finchley, that store will be boarded up. Sad, but there you go. Woolworths in London (or much of London) seemed to forget what it was about years ago. I expect that it will survive in the provinces in the smaller towns, but with the odd exception, I imagine the company's big city days are over.

Waterstones was disappointing, too. I wandered in with the vague aim of picking up a book and although there was a number I liked, they were all too expensive (mainly in the history section). I have been looking on and off for a good Blandings volume, my interest in Wodehouse having been re-awoken recently. There were none. In fact, there were only three Wodehouse books in the store; two Jeeves omnibuses and a Psmith, who no-one ever reads. Between Furtle and me, we have just about all the Jeeves stories in one form or another, so that was a bust. I don't know what happened to my Blandings books, which seem not to have survived either my recent peregrinations or those of my parents over the past few years. Still, in the new year, Everyman are finally getting around to republishing Galahad at Blandings and Summer Lightning in their nice new classic hardback format, so I may treat myself for my 50th.

On the way home, another of the odd denizens of North London crossed my path and this may be a warning for those people who wheel the nuclear accelerators around stitching together rifts in reality: it is bad for you - don't make a career of it. I was on the 263 coming back to Whetstone and the gargoyle of a woman got on the bus, trailing her wheely bag. Being and odd shape myself, I shall merely observe that hers was odder. She looked as though she had faced down the ugly tree and made it whither in shame for not trying hard enough. More to the point, she positioned her wheely so that no one could get up or down the stairs without climbing over or around it and brazenly ignored anyone who made the attempt.

None of this, however, would have made her note worthy, such caddish behaviour being commonplace in these benighted times. No, her claim to fame resides entirely in the words of her conversation with another woman of her acquaintance with whom she was deep in conversation across the bus aisle. Her friend, occupying a pair of seats by herself, udged along a bit and asked if she would like to sit?

"No thank you, dear. I have cataracts."