Harriet Mills

Mr important walks in past four customers patiently waiting and straight to the front demanding ham.

“Cut it thick please, you know, just how my wife likes it!”

(How are we supposed to know how your wife likes it, you think, but continue to play the game and ask politely whether the slice you have just cut is thick enough)

He then wants exactly 200g, no more nor less. Again, the guess work comes with a smile through gritted teeth and then to the side at the customers still stood patiently waiting.

He chats for ages about what a lovely shop this is, what a wonderful area it is in and because you can’t be rude and he is saying nice things, you must listen to his babble. Yet you are constantly wanting to serve the four customers patiently waiting, though first in line is becoming ever more frustrated.

“Do you sell Quinoa here?”

(What a stupid request? Of all the things you offer you always get one who picks the most obscure product and has the balls to ask for it)

“No, sir. I am afraid we don’t. Is that everything?”

He goes to grab his wallet from deep within his jean back pocket.

(Hallelujah, you think, we are finally at the end and I can now serve the four customers who have been patiently waiting)

“Oh, I’ll tell you what I need actually. Bare with me one moment.”

He wanders off to another part of the shop so you begin to ask the first patient customer in line if you can help them, both agreeing through wicked eye movements at what a nuisance he is being.

“Can I hel–”

(Interrupted, of course)

He’s now requesting a licorice sweet one centimeter shorter than the ones you have in stock. Inside your head you’ve left the room, yet sadly your body still remains and you have to come up with a serious answer to this barbarity. You want him to ask for a pet unicorn to keep the insanity levels high.

“Frightfully sorry, sir. This is all we have at the moment. I can order it in for you though.”

(The get out clause that saves you in any situation but allows you to conveniently forget your promise if the request is ludicrous.)

“Not to worry, I think that is all.”

(Brilliant, fantastic, the pain might well be over)

“So that will be £4.89 please.”

“Wait a minute.”

(I’m pretty used to waiting)

“Let me just find

(The change)

the change.”

(You knew it)

You wait for him to count out the correct amount in twenty pence pieces while pleading apologetically with your eyes to the eight customers patiently waiting in line and all humour him while you pretend that he is as important to society as he feels.

Meanwhile, his friend ‘I can’t wait a minute’ is hovering forcefully at the other counter, nagging for a cash withdrawal.

“Hello there, I’ll be with you in a minute. These eight people have been waiting so I must serve them first.”

“Ok, do you have any cakes?”

(Clearly not listened to a word you just said)

“I’ll get to you as soon as possible.”

(So you don’t listen either.)

“The ones with icing on, I really like them.”

(Fabulous, two of them in at once)

“Yes we do. I shall just bag this for you so it doesn’t go but I really must serve everybody else first. Thank you sir, good bye. Thank you for waiting everybody. Can I help you?”

Of course Mr important knows Miss I can’t wait a minute and they collectively become ‘the hovering gossips’. Chatting quite happily away to one another and taking up the capacity of the shop in the process.

“Hi, yes. Please can I have a cheese roll and a coffee?”

“Certainly, if you could just pass up the roll you would like.”

Miss I can’t wait a minute heckles from the other counter, interrupting her role as floater.

“Could I just withdraw thirty pounds I am in an awful rush.”

“Yes, just one minute and I will be with you.”

“Is that my roll,” comes from the mouth of first in line which makes you immediately think that he’s not in the patient group as you’d first predicted but in fact fits into one of the other categories of retail.

“Yes, sir. It’s almost complete.”

“Oh, I’d only like half a piece of tomato and just the one cucumber please. And if that knife has been anywhere near the chutney then I would be needing a new roll.”

“I’m ever so sorry, sir. Would you pass me another, I didn’t realise so I shall start again.”

“Sorry to be a pain.”

“Not at all, you’re absolutely fine.”

(Do not let inner thoughts show on facial expression)

. . .

Eventually after what feels like forever but has probably only been five minutes, the shop is empty. Apart from two customers. Finally time to catch up and regain your faith in mankind.

“Hello there. A strange request I know but do you know of any toy voyage hosts?

(What do they think you are, Google? What is toy voyaging?)

“I don’t know what that is? I’m really sorry.”

“It’s where I have a toy and would give it to a host from another country to take it on a vacation. In return I would have theirs. I’m from New Zealand you see.”

“I see.”

One customer remains. The lingerer. The one who has come for a day trip rather than to buy necessities and spends hours choosing items but buying nothing. You attempt to get on with jobs while still looking eager to help them but getting more and more frustrated at the time they take to choose a bag of crisps.

“I’ll take these.”

(Finally)

Now, the shop is empty. For a few minutes the shop remains empty. You wash up all of the dishes, prepare more salad for sandwiches and stock up some shelves. A lady walks in. Lovely looking and as if she knows what she wants. No queues to skip so she heads straight to the counter with a smile.

“Hi there, I’m off to Mongolia next month. Would you be able to recommend the best hotel?”

(You give up)

This is a very exaggerated version, don’t get me wrong, but it is also a glimpse into life in retail. I absolutely love my job and don’t feel at work half of the time with the lovely customers/ friends that I serve throughout the day. However, as with anything in life – there is always one!

Whether you are behind the counter serving or waiting in line, you will be sure to experience the down sides to retail at more than one stage in your life. Though most people you deal with are lovely, there is sure to be irritation along the way.

Now that the heatwave has officially ended, something that I decided quite firmly while stood shivering under a marquee at the weekend and rain lashing down either side, I felt it appropriate to write about the summer that we have had.

For once in certainly my life and I am sure many of my readers too (unless you’re old enough to remember summer of 1976 as people keep telling me) the summer weather in England during 2018 has been beautiful.

The sun has constantly been shining, no rain in sight and you have been able to count on shorts and a t-shirt or a pretty summer dress to last you throughout the day rather than having to change to accommodate the four seasons in 24 hours that we usually experience.

Even when the school holidays began back at the end of July the weather didn’t change to the wetness that usually comes. No, the sunshine and heat remained and people were known to be going abroad to cool down not to find some heat and get a tan.

This wouldn’t be a Brit writing a blog post about the glorious summer that we’ve had without bringing in the negatives so that is what I am about to do. Aside from the serious danger that it has caused to wildlife and communities with an uncountable amount of field fires on farms and in woodlands, a major downer has been, in my opinion, how the Brits themselves have coped.

We can’t ever just be happy can we, always having to moan particularly about the weather. You had the ‘I’m too hot’ folk, the ‘I hate the sun’ people and the ‘I hate to moan, but…’ brigade wherever you went.

Some would say ‘it’s alright if you don’t have to do anything’ until they didn’t have to do anything and then that would be awful too. Even the drinkers among us were complaining because supermarkets had run out of lemonade for Pimms and tonic for the G & T’s – total and utter disaster.

Dogs were getting bored missing out on walk after walk because it was cruel to take them out in the heat. Towns were full of murmuring complaints about the temperature and outside the entrance to beer gardens was where these moans escalated due to the fact that there were never any seats.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not all negative and I have spoken to people who have loved the weather too and those who couldn’t get to the beach quick enough. But then the beach fiasco had a bad picture painted from the media with the mess that some were left in with litter filling the entire expanse.

I personally have loved every minute of the weather that we have had an I have been working in it the entire time. Though we do have air conditioning so whether that counts or not I can’t say.

Of course I agree that the fires are horrific, the threat on nature has been awful and the state of Southend beach that I saw pictured was in no way excusable.

However, I can’t get enough of having a summer wardrobe and using it in our home country, every night being the perfect weather for an ice cold alcoholic beverage and BBQ’s on repeat.

Bring on next year I say, it’s a long old winter.

Not that long ago I decided to take on a little challenge for myself and write a novel. I had already undertaken some research around another project which gave me an insight into the publishing industry and all that is involved. The responses I received from this, I guess, gave me some courage. However, what gave me the initial idea and inspiration to begin happened while sat on an open top bus in Dublin.

I sat there half taking in the interesting commentary about the city from a hilarious Irish driver, half taking in my surroundings and it was in this moment when my creativity began to flow. I thought up the perfect beginning to a novel and from that moment on I decided to write.

Thinking about this has made me realise how powerful a commute can be. It’s time spent doing nothing but travelling. Of course you can fill this empty space by listening to some music, reading a book or chatting to strangers but when you’re on a train, a bus or even in your own car life seems to slow right down and allows you time to think.

Twentieth Century life is extremely busy and gets exceedingly more so with new inventions and trends to keep up with. We rarely stop to truly take in surrounds, to finish thoughts, to think about friends we’ve not seen in a while or to come up with a story line for a book.

I often think this is why I enjoy laying on my bed and listening to music so much, maybe a podcast, or sticking my nose in a book. All of these activities force you to stop in this mad world and even if your mind is preoccupied with the lyrics or words so you don’t dedicate it to important thoughts then at least you’re truly relaxing.

I find public transport has this effect yet it’s one of the more hidden examples. Most of us actively know that we’re relaxing while reading or listening to the radio, but when on public transport your sometimes forget, merely taking that twenty minute journey for granted.

In terms of creativity twenty minutes can produce a lot of ideas, make you think about the different directions you could take with your work, perhaps even produce the beginning of a novel or the potential start of a new career.

I realise not everybody has the urge to write or be creative but still time on public transport can be powerful. It still gives you time in which you slow down, it allows you to think and it lets you consider tasks that you have to complete and gives you space to organise your chaotic mind.

Next time you’re on a train, a plane, a bus, a boat or in your car, notice what your mind is doing and feel the creative juices flow. Feel that relaxation that is so often overlooked when travelling from A to B.

I thought up this week’s blog topic when sitting at a friends house one sunny Sunday a few weeks back. There I was, wine in hand, music playing, adorable dogs running about my feet and in total bliss.

One friend was watching the sport inside to keep cool, the other was busying about the house. A little later we were both reading separately. And later we were all chatting about whatever topics came into our heads, nothing in particular.

Granted I am very close to the friends in question but it made me think how different it is socialising as an adult compared to as children. Not once did we ask each other ‘what shall we do now?’ Not once was there that awkward waiting time thinking up some exciting venture so that your house is remembered as the fun one and everybody fights to be invited round. Quite frankly, I consider all houses with an amount of fridge space dedicated to alcoholic beverages the place to be these days.

As a child I was very sociable and showed signs of my adult organisation traits by sorting my social life well in advance. I’d have friends round all the time and with our garden being designed for kids and our parents being lenient as ever, our house was just that, the fun house. We had a trampoline, Wendy house, paddling pool and a huge chest full of toys and games so coming up with ideas of things to do was never difficult.

I recall many times as a child when round someone’s house a series of long winded silences when asked what you’d like to do. I am referring to fairly young children here, I was drunk by thirteen, but still. You’d spend an hour or so deciding and by the time your Mum came to collect you you’d only just started the chosen activity so didn’t want to leave. This is when hide and seek came into play and you’d hide from the parents thinking seriously that they’d never ever find you. Sadly, they always did.

Adult socialising on the other hand is extremely different. It takes a text saying ‘pub?’ or a suggestion of an after work gin and tonic round a friends and everybody is game. You don’t even have to chat that much because you enjoy the sweet wine seeping into your veins. Even friends that may not have seen each other for years will reunite over a beer or two. It’s just how it is and I’m not complaining in any way, merely just noting the difference.

Even sober socialising as an adult doesn’t take much invention. You go to a friends, catch up over a cuppa or something ice cold and then leave. Perhaps watch a bit of tele, re-locate to the garden or even head out for a walk but you don’t ever do much.

I realise that much of this difference is to do with the little energy we have to socialise as we get older. No longer are we hyper children who are never warn out because the hardest task of the day is tying our own shoelaces or picking which colour cup to have our juice in. Instead we become warn out slaves to the rat race who only want to chill on our time off and chilling with good company is the perfect way to get together.

Especially in the recent scorching weather I am quite happy that I am no longer a child wanting to play man hunt or badminton in the garden in my free time. I’m happy to be an adult, seeking pub gardens and good company to laugh with.

Ultimately what I am trying to express through my long winded observations is that socialising as a child takes thought and organisation, imagination too, whereas socialising as an adult takes a few bottles of wine, chilled.

Whoever your talking to, however typically English they are probably saying ‘oh it’s too hot’ or ‘we need some rain’, the recent weather in the UK has been beautiful.

Everyone has been in good spirits, Ice cream sales have gone through the roof and the beaches have been mobbed. Or, more accurately, my social media news feed has been mobbed with pictures of friends enjoying the beach while I slave away to the rat race (naww).

I did however escape for a night the other week and got myself to my happy place by the sea. I’ve written about the sea before and how looking out into the ocean gives you that feeling of just how small you are in this big world. It brings home the idea that all of your worries are so tiny compared to how large the world is, how many other people are in it and how if we added all of our problems up and compared them to one individual those struggles would vanish.

In fact while at the beach once I read a sign. It said ‘by the sea all of your worries wash away’ which is so true. Just hearing the crashing of the waves and nothing else relaxes you beyond measure and releases any trapped anger or guilt or sadness out onto the horizon. The sound of the ocean removes all the tension within you so much that you can physically feel it leaving your body, well I certainly can.

When I am by the sea I always make sure I take a snapshot video of the waves so that I can listen to them whenever I feel trapped inland. Often our lives take over and we get so worked up inside without realising then when we hit the coast all is released and we can start again. Only this week I found myself listening back to these videos and it really helped.

Living in the countryside I have access to open spaces daily and often go walking which is great for my soul but somehow the addition of the sea in this scenario adds that special extra.

I find everything is easier by the sea. Granted there’s usually no need to rush because I’m on a break away from work and business but everything is so chilled. I wake up at ease. Enjoy one or two cups of tea in blissful silence. I have time to read my magazines which I subscribe to monthly but hardly ever get chance to sit down and go through. I even have time to have a shower without rushing to get my hair dry before work.

I find that my writing improves by the sea. My ideas flow more easily and the content that I write, of which increases vastly, is also of a higher standard than when I’m cramming it in in my break from work.

I feel cleaner by the sea. My face feels refreshed as soon as the sea air hits it and my hair always dries with a wave that only occurs when by the sea.

I feel happy by the sea, with all the worries I ever have washing away along with tension inside me. I cannot be sad by the sea. I love being by the sea.

We are very lucky to be living on an island where the sea is only ever a few hours drive away so never take this for granted. So many benefits can be found in time by the sea. Love it. Appreciate is. Soak it all in whenever you find yourself by the sea.

 

I thought it appropriate during a significant week in the world of football to write a post about something which I used to love but now doesn’t do much for me at all.

Over the past few weeks the 1966 England kits have come out of the loft, ‘Waistcoat Wednesday’ became a thing, The Sun newspaper has come up with some cracking headlines and Baddiel, Skinner & The Lightning Seeds have been played on repeat.

Pubs have been filled with atmospheres which have been missing for years, everybody has been smiling and the glorious weather has added to the hype.

People have been having parties revolved around the match leaving only fifteen minute slots in which to eat. Marriages have been reunited and bonds have been broken when wives wanted to watch the new series of The Affair but hubby and son have stuck the TV on BBC1.

The roars of celebration have come from living rooms up and down the country, cries of commiseration too, but one thing that remains through all of this mayhem is togetherness and that’s the thing that I love.

I used to adore playing football. In fact, from the age of about eleven until sixteen when my team folded I dedicated a lot of my life to the game and was pretty good at it. I never fell in love with watching it and still fail to understand how people can sit and watch every minute week on week. However, I can understand the hype that comes with the world cup.

The patriarchy, the pride to be British and the togetherness is the thing that I love the most. We are a nation of moaning misery a lot of the time and the upbeat spirit that has surrounded the world cup has been refreshing to see. This doesn’t disregard the fact that I’m more than happy to do my own thing and only enter the room when I hear cheers from the company that I am with, but I do feel a sense of pride when this happens.

Though soaking up the final rays of sunshine and my delicious corn on the cob came first on Wednesday evening (not to mention that I feel I may have jinxed the match with Croatia’s first goal coming as soon as I turned over) I did watch it.

As sad as it is that we didn’t make the final, the good vibes that it created within the country having got so far is good enough for me. Vibes so good that they led three girls who wouldn’t usually care for a game of football (one of which is Irish) to watch and cheer and swiftly escape before the men got home.