Wild Women of Wonga

You know those scenes in post-apocalyptic films where the survivors of some global catastrophe battle desperately to secure the few remaining resources?

It seems the phenomenon is closer to home than you might think:

Women were seen fighting over Disney 'Frozen' merchandise during the opening of a new Poundworld store in Merthyr Tydfil.

Since there was already a pound shop in town, the managers had to come up with something special to attract bargain-hungry locals and their Disney-themed opening certainly seems to have done the trick .

Hundreds of customers queued in the rain for over an hour before the doors opened on Wednesday and the company expected 'a record 10,000 shoppers' over the opening weekend.

The truly startling statistic, however, is to be found in the company policy for allocating the sought-after Disney merchandise:

Due to high demand the stock was limited to 50 items per customer...

Fifty items? Fifty? Even in a pound shop, that surely represents a substantial outlay by most people's standards, particularly when spent on ephemeral tat.

... and goods including 'Frozen' lip balms, money tins and stationery sold out in less than 40 minutes.

We're often told that hard-pressed customers are driven to pound shops by the high prices of essential items elsewhere; for some, at least, those 'baskets piled high' with film tie-in merchandise tell a different story.

Always assuming the whole article wasn't concocted by Poundworld's PR department to drum up trade (though it's not a great slogan - 'shop here and get into a punch-up!'), I wonder where the money is coming from...


If the title sounds vaguely familiar, it may be because you saw this back in the 1980s...

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A bonus helping of Schadenfreude has appeared to brighten the start of the working week in the shape of the souped-up Toyota bemired by a boy racer in the tidal mud of Burnham on Sea.

It has now been recovered,but I don't think its owner is going to be very happy...

Five days after it sank, rescuers pulled it free, shovelling mud from the vehicle's interior and fixing chains to the frame after knocking holes in the windscreen.

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Finally, if you haven't already done so, I recommend paying a visit to Caedmon's Cat for a Dark Ages feline perspective on the current industrial action.

Talking Torquay

With this weekend's 'supermoon' expected to bring higher than normal spring tides, we will doubtless be spoilt for choice by next week's haul of rescue-related news stories.

In Devon, however, they are planning to put the rising waters to excellent use. According to the grandly-named Torquay Herald Express (which is clearly no stranger to the obligatory headline pun),

Entries are flooding in for a new competition to Beat the Tide in Paignton.

Today's contest, in aid of muscular dystrophy charity Action Duchenne, is the first of what organisers hope will become an annual event in which teams of six to eight people are given an hour to build a mound of sand on the beach.

When the tide comes in, all the team members must climb onto their giant sandcastle and stay there as the water rises around them.

The winners will be the last team left standing; all the fun of being cut off by the tide without having to bother the emergency services and a valuable lesson on fluid dynamics into the bargain, all while helping a worthwhile cause.

Forget 'Strictly X-factor Find Me a Talented Nancy Boy on Ice'; this is the competition that should be broadcast to the nation tonight - and every subsequent year until the RNLI stop having to fish out would-be Cnuts at every spring tide.

...........................

As a bonus, the same edition of the local newspaper provides the delightfully paradoxical headline:

Is the 89p pound shop in Torquay the cheapest in the country?

It appears that two rival discount outlets have been systematically undercutting each other over the past few weeks in a sort of economic limbo dance of 'tactical marketing'. Last week, 'The 99p Store' in Torquay was selling everything for 92p, while 'Poundland' was pricing its merchandise at a mere 90p.

'The 99p Store' has now retaliated by dropping its prices to 89p. This price-cutting is, presumably, subsidised by some kind of central fighting fund designed to put rivals out of business. If it carries on until one of them blinks, it will become a test of which business can afford to sell below cost for longest.

The same thing has happened in other towns, albeit with less media attention - the Daily Mail picked this up while I had a post in draft (which is always annoying!) - but this seems to be the longest and toughest price battle so far and must be putting other retailers under strain.

If this is the future, we can surely look forward to high streets filled with the ubiquitous phone shops and nail bars and a multiplicity of discount outlets selling whatever they have managed to acquire on the grey market that week.

Oh brave new world, that has such retail in it!


(There is, of course, only one soundtrack for a story like the latter one; happy earworm, everybody!)

Fashion excess

According to a recent article in the Financial Times, 2013 was a frustrating year for Bangladeshi garment manufacturers.

While their exports have grown dramatically, political unrest and uncertainty has increased their costs, depriving them of the opportunity to achieve even greater increases. According to their trade association,

"In November, [garment] exports rose over 29 per cent but our target was about 40 per cent."

It's a fair bet that at least some of that 29% increase is now hanging on sale rails or languishing in warehouses, waiting for some shopper to succumb to the lure of a hefty sale discount; many major chain stores still have large areas of the shop floor devoted to sale garments nearly a month after they first began to cut prices.

The major supermarkets, too, have been left with unsold items clogging up their clothing departments - cheap and cheerful their wares may be, but when the high street giants have slashed their prices to similar levels, the discerning customer is likely to head for the mall.

The clothing retail industry seems to have bought wholeheartedly into the belief that growth is infinitely sustainable, and, with a finite customer base, this means expecting everyone to buy more - the reasoning behind a major retailer's boast that its website has 'hundreds of new arrivals every week'.

Many of these new arrivals will be marked down within a few weeks to make way for the next shipment. The trouble with this strategy is that it ignores the inherent conservatism of many shoppers and the financial and storage constraints that place a natural ceiling on almost everyone's purchasing.

Prices are the lowest they have ever been in real terms as retailers compete in a race to the bottom, but much of this has been achieved at the cost of low pay and appalling working conditions for workers in the industry. Somehow it makes it worse to think that the results of their labours now sit neglected on a sale rail amid a glut of unwanted merchandise.

Meanwhile, other countries are getting in on the act, with India planning the kind of factory and dormitory combinations that have allowed China to undercut the rest of the world in manufacturing costs. Even allowing for new markets opening up in developing countries where second-hand clothes are currently big business, it's hard to see how these millions of garments will find a home.

Clothing sales surely cannot continue to grow indefinitely, whatever the manufacturers of Bangladesh may wish for.

"But I haven't got a baby..."

It seems there are no such things as celebrations any more; only retail opportunities.

Marks and Spencer, within minutes of the announcement of the royal birth, were e-mailing customers offering a cornucopia of champagne, flowers and party food and a tin of commemorative shortbread inscribed - with an impressive bit of bet-hedging - 'congratulations and warm wishes to the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge on the birth of their beautiful baby, Summer 2013'.

Debenhams, however, have gone one better, announcing to customers, 'The Royal baby has arrived! Let's celebrate with 20% off babywear'.

Personally, I think I'd rather stick with the champagne.

A fable for our time

While writing yesterday's post, I made the happy discovery that one of my favourite 'Clangers' episodes is now online, though not yet available to embed here.

The Clangers would doubtless be dismissed by today's yoof TV executives as hopelessly old-fashioned; they live in a nuclear family and are all the same colour - oh dear! Still, they would probably get some credit for their multicultural friendship with the Iron Chicken, though the Soup Dragon's ethnic minority stereotypical role as a provider of fast food could be problematic - and there might be trouble reconciling blue string pudding with the 'eatwell plate' much beloved of the NHS.

In any case, the sedate pace of the narrative would probably be seen as out of place in a world where Winnie the Pooh has been reduced to a speeded-up 'story app' because because 'the publisher says children will lose interest if the story does not zip along.'

All the same, I can't help feeling we'd have a better society if some of the Clangers' moral lessons were learned by the current generation of pre-school children.

It's ten minutes long so, if you have time to spare, pour yourself a drink appropriate to the time of day, put your feet up and enjoy a lesson in economics - and the dangers of 3D printing -  from some little knitted aliens.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sJhePGnzuUU

"When this storm is over, we'll be in a new ice age."

My nearest town - a worthy modern-day successor to the Newgate described by Dickens in the heading of this blog - offers a variety of supermarkets.

As a rule, I avoid the biggest one; serving two notoriously rough estates, it has an unenviable reputation for violence and shoplifting - and in any case, the Spouse's habit of referring to it as 'the Ugly Bug Ball' means I can't get the tune out of my head for days after a trip there.

So, anyway, to yesterday morning, and a routine trip to one of of its quieter rivals in a nicer part of town; it became obvious as I neared the place, however, that normal rules were not going to apply. The queue to get into the car park stretched out past the traffic lights on the main road, at which point a significant proportion of motorists had decided to make it up as they went along.

Once in the line, there was no backing out - literally. Having fought my way through the melee to a parking space  (a task requiring the eyes of a hawk and nerves of steel), secured one of the few available trolleys and managed to lay hold of the groceries I needed, I made my way home and sat down with a restorative cup of coffee to catch up on the news before work.

Thus it was that, in due course, I found myself looking at the Mail's lead story, and all suddenly became clear: "Don't travel tomorrow" shrieked the headline, "Motorists warned to stay off the road as Britain faces six inches of snow"

The scrum at the supermarket probably included a fair few stampeding Mail readers, all intent on buying the wherewithal to see them through, judging by their trolleys, most of the next ice age. Meanwhile, A K Haart, who had a similar experience in his local Sainsburys, describes frenzied shoppers seizing vast quantities of potatoes and cake, presumably in fear of some kind of appalling carbohydrate crisis.

And, just to compound the problem, recent news of unexpected ingredients in cheap, own-brand burgers seems to have badly frightened the very shoppers most likely to be swayed by the Mail's frenzied predictions and sent them upmarket, making Sainsbury's this week's panic-buying venue of choice.

By yesterday evening, the lead story had changed; the new headline vaunted the results of the Mail's self-fulfilling prophecy in a rather long-winded headline accompanied by appropriate pictures:

Panic buyers strip shelves after Met Office issues blizzard alert for Wales as Britain braces for blanket of up to 12in of snow tomorrow

It's the Holy Grail of sensational journalism; cause the panic, then report in depth on its consequences. Just as Robert Peston's gleeful coverage of queues outside a single branch of Northern Rock sparked the national scramble that catapulted him to reporting stardom, the news story creates the news.

And the Mail is in its element, sending its readers out in their thousands to empty the shelves of the supermarkets rather than their own store cupboards - how many of us really don't have enough food in the house to see us through until the roads are cleared?

Even the more sedate Telegraph is getting in on the act, with live coverage of the '40-hour snowstorm' and an interesting insight into the mind (if you can call it that) of the panic-buyer. In the words of one shop assistant in the impenetrable wilderness of the Home Counties:

"One woman told me that all the TV forecasters and newspapers are predicting the country will be under a foot of snow and all the roads will be blocked by tomorrow.  

She said she decided to rush in and do a massive shop because all her friends were doing it, and if she put it off, there would be nothing left and she wouldn't be able to get here anyway through all the snow."

The rest of Europe must be laughing themselves sick; why do we make such a fuss about a few centimetres of snow? Does it really matter that we might run out of bread or potatoes for a day or so and have to eat rice or pasta from the store cupboard instead? Surely, once upon a time, we would have taken it in our stride; now it's a disaster of epic proportions, requiring suitably dramatic presentation.


Update: latest Mail headline - which nominally applies only to Wales, but when did reason ever stop the impressionable taking fright?

...public warned to stay inside and avoid all travel

The disservice sector

Faced with a recalcitrant mobile phone last week, I set off for the company's local shop - one of five phone shops in a single shopping centre. All the assistants were already occupied with customers so I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

The assistants - all three of them - eyes fixed on their computer screens, resisted all attempts to make eye contact; the customers fiddled silently with the mobiles they were buying or had brought in for repair. Nobody said a word.

With a bustling concourse a few feet away, six people stood facing each other across the counter in stony silence: I started wondering whether I had inadvertently intruded into a piece of experimental theatre.

Finally, after more than ten minute of trying unsuccessfully to catch someone's eye, I gave up and went home. Fortunately the Artful Dodger, being a child of the 1990s, understands these new-fangled things and has since managed to restore the phone to working order.

A ten-minute wait gives you plenty of time to study your surroundings. The piece of shop furnishing that struck me most was a large red sign prominently displayed on the counter, warning of dire consequences for anyone who physically or verbally assaults one of the shop's employees.

If what I experienced is a taste of standard high street practice these days, then no wonder Britain's service economy is in trouble - and no wonder they need that sign.

But I haven't got a thing to wear!

We’re all tightening our belts these days, but it seems that some of them are brand new ones from Matalan. Despite the gloom and doom of the High St, the fashion chain is planning to speed up its expansion plans, claiming there is room out there for a further 50 stores.

With like-for-like sales rising over 8 percent in the past 14 weeks, they have the figures to back up this assertion. But it does leave one wondering where all these clothes will go in an already saturated national wardrobe; after all, if clothing sales were completely halted for the next year, none of us would be wandering round naked from necessity (from choice, now; there’s a different matter).

Somehow the nation has become stuck in a sartorial feeding frenzy. Yesterday, an interviewee on the radio said that she would spend her benefit money on clothes for her children rather than paying her utility bills - at the same time, schools have abandoned second-hand uniform shops because parents and children will not accept used clothing.

And so the juggernaut rolls on, fuelled by the media propaganda of ‘must-haves’ and ‘fashion essentials’, and to make room for it all, the UK annually dumps 1.2 million tonnes of clothing in landfill sites. Another 50 Matalan stores - that's just what this country needs!

Going for a Thong

By a happy concidence, I came across this (Telegraph Gallery) the same morning as JuliaM's diverting post on a paramedic who stripped down to a thong in Tesco after staff refused to serve him because he was in uniform.

Since he was trying to buy a bottle of wine, I suppose their refusal is understandable - consider the damage a drunken paramedic on duty could cause - but it seems a little harsh that any uniformed worker has to change their clothes before popping in for a bottle of Cabernet on the way home from work.

One has to wonder whether the thong in question is the paramedic's usual attire (rather uncomfortable wear for an 8-hour shift, I'd have thought), or whether, aware of Tesco's policy, he set up the confrontation to make a point - the recent TV screening of 'The Full Monty' being something of a coincidence.

Still, it made someone's day; eye-witness Rachael happily told the Mail,

'I couldn't believe my eyes. Normally people would pay to see a man in uniform strip but we got a free show.'

My thanks to JuliaM at Ambush Predator

Browsing for Bikinis

Guest post by Polly Peachum

It’s official; shopping brings out your inner cavewoman. According to the latest academic research from the department of the bleeding obvious (aka Manchester Metropolitan University, who must have been dancing in the aisles when the brief came in), the gathering skills inherited from our ancestors (or ancestresses) enable us to select our preferred items from the vast range on offer. 

Browsing the lingerie racks is, apparently, a direct link with Ms BC (although she probably didn’t have quite such a wide choice on offer). Meanwhile, spare a thought for the blushes of female shoppers in traditional areas of Saudi Arabia who, because women are discouraged from working, have to buy their lingerie in male-staffed stores. Although a law in 2006 permitted the employment of female sales staff in lingerie departments, few shops have so far employed them; with male unemployment at 13% and opposition from traditional clerics, the policy is surprisingly unpopular. 

 College lectureer Reem Asaad is campaigning on Facebook for female sales staff to be employed in lingerie departments and for fitting rooms to be installed; at present women are not allowed to undress in the shop and cannot be measured by male staff. It seems that, for some of the traditionalists of Saudi Arabia at least, a woman's place is in the home wearing ill-fitting underwear. 

 So Women of Britain, make the most of your freedom. Go forth and gather - but watch out for sabre-toothed tigers!

What's in a name?

As JM of Jonny Mac's Place has remarked, Bernard Madoff has rather dominated things here in Newgate over the past few days. Although there is little to add now that he is safely immured in his gilded cage, we have as yet left untouched the vast amusement being generated by his name and its easy incorporation into punning headlines.

Daniel Finkelstein in his Times blog goes one better and has collected his favourite examples of names suited to their owner's circumstances. I am sure even he was unprepared for the sheer volume of similar exmples his article has generated - the page rivals in size the 742 comments (and counting) clocked up so far by the Telegraph's petition against the sacking of Edward Stourton.

Although not in the same category as the solicitors Doolittle and Dally or the headmaster Mr Kane, I should like to offer for your contemplation the name Hugo Boss. If a focus group sat for weeks on end trying to think up a suitable name for a brand aimed at the go-getting professional, I doubt they could do much better, yet Hugo Boss was indeed a clothes designer in pre-war Germany - in fact, he had the dubious distinction of designing the black uniforms of the SS.

Sixty years after his death, the firm is still in business and is currently promoting the 10th anniversary of its fragrance range with a collector's edition - evoking the scents of apple and cinnamon with a hint of vanilla. So now you know, girls; get up close and the thrusting young executive smells of Apfelstrudel.

A Sale of Two Titties...

... made of bright pink nylon, 20% off; also a breast-shaped face flannel, a soap hilariously inscribed 'bum' on one side and 'face' on the other and a bow tie designed to be worn on what the Elizabethans called the privy member. All of these can be found this weekend at 20% off the marked price in a popular high street store.

Tacky, tasteless and sexist, these articles are being marketed as 'stocking fillers' according to the sign on the display - a perfect example of the infantilisation of the British male. Even at 20% off, they weren't exactly flying off the shelves and will probably end up in the January sales with a non-existent profit margin (the more frugally minded among you might like to note that the bow tie would admirably suit a small teddy bear).

Quite apart from their inherent vulgarity, the price of £3-£5 makes it highly likely that this exploitative tat was assembled by low-paid workers in a third world sweatshop, quite possibly in a region where they hold strict religious beliefs. Oh, to be a fly on the wall as they discussed the products and their eventual purchasers!

The astounding thing is that in this summer's financial climate a buyer actually thought it was a good idea to order hundreds of bow ties for bits and have them imported from the other side of the world. One silver lining to the cloud of global recession and a sinking pound is that it may make retailers a little more discerning about what they choose to import for next Christmas.

Of Ghoulies and Ghosties and Long-leggety Beasties

Well, something out there seems immune to the credit crunch - latest forecast figures from Planet Retail predict that Britons will spend a total of £195 million on merchandise for this year's Hallowe'en (up from a mere £12m in 2001).

This growth (up 22% from last year) is due to what they call the 'adultification' (yuk!) of the festival - Asda alone stocks 15 different costumes in adult sizes.

Does this mean we are about to be beset by 6' tall trick-or-treaters intent on recouping the £25 cost of their outfit or is it a bizarre form of last hurrah as the ruins of our economy crumble about our ears? Either way, it's too late now to wish you'd bought shares in SweatshopHorrorDuds Inc.

Me? I'll be the one bobbing for apples by the light of a tattie bogle.

PS We are, at least, still some way behind the Land of the Free where this year's Hallowe'en expenditure is set to top $5.5 billion.