Bored of excitement – The griefjunkie blog 

Dear Rachel,

General disdain at the quality of available Hillmans* is the perogative of the market trader, or, as I am rebranding myself over the next few months, the gentleman retailer. Therefore,’If I sell you this, will you go away?’ is now my standard offer to disinterested and/or uninspiring browsers.

It’s horses for courses, though. Looking like Yoda doesn’t necessarily make you wise, as I pointed out to some old bint this weekend, shrunken from a lifetime of pouring out scorn, as she picked over our stall in the manner of someone retrieving a bus pass from a pile of dog turds.

(*Hillman Hunters – Punters)

[Hitting Read More will reveal secrets of the free market economy and Beastie Boys related kitchenware sales]

This was in response to the usual horrified gasp accompanying the realisation that in a free market ecomony the exchanging of capital for goods and services is central to the concept of retail, and that therefore, a retail price is usually suggested by the vendor of said goods and services as an indicator of inherent or percieved worth or value. The vendee can then either accept, reject, or enter into negotiation with the vendor until a mutually acceptable retail price is met.

Advising the vendor – in this example, myself – that not only is £14 ‘very expensive’ but that you can get an apron for ‘£2 in Yorkshire’ is unlikely to elicit a positive response. As I explained, you see this apron in a shop it’s gonna be a score and no backchat*, so you either a) buy it or b) wish you’d bought it. I went on to point out that as I wasn’t on a horse and waving pistols about and she didn’t look like a stagecoach this was unlikely to be a highway robbery, but that yeah ok go on then I’ll do you two for twenty five, if you promise never to step outside your house again.

As she left she announced that her ‘parting shot’ was to say that I was the ‘rudest man she had ever met’. I replied that actually I was being quite restrained, and that if I had my way my parting shot would be a literal one, from some variety of assualt rifle. She was an unlikely purchaser of aprons emblazoned with ‘I Can’t Get Stew Out Of My Head’ and ‘You’ve Got To Fight For Your Right Chapati’, but it had been a slow day and a sale’s a sale. Happily, things picked up after that.

(**’Score’ – £20, ‘and no backchat’ – market slang for ‘at least’. Come to think of, a choice of phrase ill suited to conversation with an elderly Yorkshirewoman)

Facebook – here’s us on the most sinister internet phenomenon ever. Seem to have finally settled at 97 members.

Twitter – and here we are on Twitter, either eating biscuits or pissed.

Photards: Top The Duke Of Wellington, at the Duke of Wellington, EC1. Picter displays poor understanding of flash photography.

Middle: Lavish no-expense-incurred signage at Leadenhall. As a child, I had such dreams.

Bottom: Construction work at the Camden Stables a couple of years ago. This is where the the three storey shopping mall is now.