The wonder of Woolies
It was a Sunday out of season and we were in Denbigh. Think we’d been to the castle, which is worth a visit (especially if you ask for the key for the magic gate that lets you walk around the town walls).
Denbigh town centre is, to put it kindly, less of a highlight, at least on a Sunday. Almost nowhere was open. No one was around. What might have been open looked rather uninspiring anyway. But one shop on the high street was open: Woolworths.
We spent half an hour in there.
We browsed bed linen and childrenswear. We perused household goods, including kitchen accessories, cooking utensils, tableware and tea towels. We investigated utilities for cleaning upholstery and organising odd assortments of bits and pieces whose purpose nobody can quite remember but feels will become apparent and essential in due course so daren’t get rid of them. We picked our way over bargain CDs and DVDs, carefully contemplating the sleeve notes on the back of those that briefly caught our eyes (who was Tom Hanks?). We cast a cold, cynical glance over the headlines of the Sunday papers, and stared bemused at the bylines on Hello and OK!
And finally, we took many, many minutes to carefully select a chocolate bar each from the confectionary aisle. And then we were back outside on the pavement, in Denbigh, on Sunday, with only a Mars bar each to entertain us.
Sadly, it wasn’t enough to save Woolies. But the question is: what’s going to save Denbigh?