Thursday, March 25, 2004
Sorry, this is turning into an Obscure Celebrity Spotting blog...
Cue big old kerfuffle below my shop, involving about 15 tourists of various nationalities, waving at the Ben Sherman shop and taking photographs.
After sundry attempts at catching the attention of the security guard downstairs, I resort to heckling the group of tourists:
Me, from balcony: “Excuse me? Excuse me! Oi, uh, hello. HELLOO!”
Young American lad looks up.
Me: “Who are you looking at?”
Lad: “The guy from Lord of the Rings.”
Me: “Which guy?”
Lad: “Uh, I don’t know”.
Lad goes back to showing the photos he’d taken of said anonymous LOTR actor to his dad.
I briefly consider going downstairs to see and satisfy my curiosity, but then decide that that would be sad. Will just wait for Heat’s spotted column next week.
Earlier on, crossed Lexington Street with Rhona Cameron and saw bloke from Shameless on Wardour Street.
Cue big old kerfuffle below my shop, involving about 15 tourists of various nationalities, waving at the Ben Sherman shop and taking photographs.
After sundry attempts at catching the attention of the security guard downstairs, I resort to heckling the group of tourists:
Me, from balcony: “Excuse me? Excuse me! Oi, uh, hello. HELLOO!”
Young American lad looks up.
Me: “Who are you looking at?”
Lad: “The guy from Lord of the Rings.”
Me: “Which guy?”
Lad: “Uh, I don’t know”.
Lad goes back to showing the photos he’d taken of said anonymous LOTR actor to his dad.
I briefly consider going downstairs to see and satisfy my curiosity, but then decide that that would be sad. Will just wait for Heat’s spotted column next week.
Earlier on, crossed Lexington Street with Rhona Cameron and saw bloke from Shameless on Wardour Street.
Some tips for the tourists and dense people visiting my shop...
Familiarise yourself with the trading laws...
A familiar sight at about 11.30 am on a Sunday is various confused-looking people trying to find a shop that is open. Admittedly, we don’t have the square footage for the Sunday Trading Law to apply, but look around you, exactly how many shops have you passed that have been open? Er, none, Bob.
No, I am not a tourist attraction...
Who shops at 7pm on a Friday or Saturday night? Tourists, that’s who. With absolutely no awareness that, hey, you have a home to go to after being at work for 9 hours. Funnily enough, we’re not here to provide you with a sight-seeing opportunity of a Friday night.
No, I am not your personal guide...
I used to have a lot of people asking for directions. My favourite: “Can you tell me how to get to Soho?” Me: “You’re in it.” Dozy person: “I mean, like Chinatown.” Me: “OK, Chinatown does not equal Soho. But I can help you with that.”
Second favourite: “Where’s Covent Garden from here?” Me: “I could tell you, but you’ll forget it and/or get lost cos there’s no simple way. Get on a tube. Or buy an AtoZ”
Leezen carefully, I zhall zay zis only once...
When I’m being nice and ordering down something that’s in a 50% sale, listen to the simple instructions. “I will call you when it’s in, probably will be towards the end of the week” does not mean turn up on Monday and be confused/pissed off as to why the item is not in the shop.
Know a bargain...
A 50% sale is damn cheap. You really don’t know how cheap you are getting stuff. It’s not an invitation to try to haggle the prices even further down. We are a small shop, we are not a charity, we are not ripping you off, we are not in a market in Turkey. So take it or leave it, darling.
Do a modicum of research...
Before you get to a forreign country, say Britain, work out how your home clothes size translates to British sizes. ‘Cos funnily enough, I do not have an encyclopedic knowledge of the world’s clothing sizes. And I’m guessing that my shop is not the first clothes shop you’ve been in today, let alone on your whole trip. So don’t be pissed off when I tell you politely that I don’t know.
No, the shop has not been reserved purely for your use...
If you go in a clothes shop in central London on a Saturday afternoon, don’t be surprised that you may have to wait for a changing cubicle.
Familiarise yourself with the trading laws...
A familiar sight at about 11.30 am on a Sunday is various confused-looking people trying to find a shop that is open. Admittedly, we don’t have the square footage for the Sunday Trading Law to apply, but look around you, exactly how many shops have you passed that have been open? Er, none, Bob.
No, I am not a tourist attraction...
Who shops at 7pm on a Friday or Saturday night? Tourists, that’s who. With absolutely no awareness that, hey, you have a home to go to after being at work for 9 hours. Funnily enough, we’re not here to provide you with a sight-seeing opportunity of a Friday night.
No, I am not your personal guide...
I used to have a lot of people asking for directions. My favourite: “Can you tell me how to get to Soho?” Me: “You’re in it.” Dozy person: “I mean, like Chinatown.” Me: “OK, Chinatown does not equal Soho. But I can help you with that.”
Second favourite: “Where’s Covent Garden from here?” Me: “I could tell you, but you’ll forget it and/or get lost cos there’s no simple way. Get on a tube. Or buy an AtoZ”
Leezen carefully, I zhall zay zis only once...
When I’m being nice and ordering down something that’s in a 50% sale, listen to the simple instructions. “I will call you when it’s in, probably will be towards the end of the week” does not mean turn up on Monday and be confused/pissed off as to why the item is not in the shop.
Know a bargain...
A 50% sale is damn cheap. You really don’t know how cheap you are getting stuff. It’s not an invitation to try to haggle the prices even further down. We are a small shop, we are not a charity, we are not ripping you off, we are not in a market in Turkey. So take it or leave it, darling.
Do a modicum of research...
Before you get to a forreign country, say Britain, work out how your home clothes size translates to British sizes. ‘Cos funnily enough, I do not have an encyclopedic knowledge of the world’s clothing sizes. And I’m guessing that my shop is not the first clothes shop you’ve been in today, let alone on your whole trip. So don’t be pissed off when I tell you politely that I don’t know.
No, the shop has not been reserved purely for your use...
If you go in a clothes shop in central London on a Saturday afternoon, don’t be surprised that you may have to wait for a changing cubicle.
Wednesday, March 03, 2004
Just as I start to get complacent about the safety and innocuousness of Soho during the day, I read this (time sensitive link). Shit. I walked past Archer Street within 10 minutes of that happening. You can treat such establishments as kind of cutesy by the day, but it reminds me why I used to really not like Soho at night.
I used to be really uncomfortable in Soho. One too many girls soliciting and one too many dealers springing into your path. And thanks to a guiding friend, I never got to work out the geography for myself so it seemed like a never-ending maze.
Once I knew where I was going, I appreciated it. The relative dearth of tourists, the scarily well-dressed media folk, the camaraderie and friendship between shop-owners, the small friendly cafe businesses surviving under the behemoth threat of fast-food emporia. The haphazard style of the streets, which used to infuriate me, became charming once you knew the layout.
The undercurrent of vice was nowhere near as evident during the day, but incidents like the one above render the hostesses out on Great Windmill Street all singing along to Justin Timberlake somewhat less quaintly ignorable.
I used to be really uncomfortable in Soho. One too many girls soliciting and one too many dealers springing into your path. And thanks to a guiding friend, I never got to work out the geography for myself so it seemed like a never-ending maze.
Once I knew where I was going, I appreciated it. The relative dearth of tourists, the scarily well-dressed media folk, the camaraderie and friendship between shop-owners, the small friendly cafe businesses surviving under the behemoth threat of fast-food emporia. The haphazard style of the streets, which used to infuriate me, became charming once you knew the layout.
The undercurrent of vice was nowhere near as evident during the day, but incidents like the one above render the hostesses out on Great Windmill Street all singing along to Justin Timberlake somewhat less quaintly ignorable.
I specialise in celebrity spots of high obscurity, and the other day I outdid myself. Number one, Paterson Joseph of Casualty fame on my train. It is very nice of all the obscure actors who end up on my train to pull out a script, just as I’m trying to work out if I do recognise them from somewhere, thereby saving me the anguish of figuring out if I just know them from the local Sainsbury’s or something. Bit of a scoop for you: Mr. Joseph is to appear in an episode of Murphy’s Law. Top casting news, I’m sure you’ll agree.
Next that day in obscurity news, music pundit/journalist Rick Sky was wandering around my place of work, looking confused in a comedy hat. I amaze myself sometimes with my spotting abilities.
In news of spotting actually famous people - Jonathan Ross on Brewer Street.
Next that day in obscurity news, music pundit/journalist Rick Sky was wandering around my place of work, looking confused in a comedy hat. I amaze myself sometimes with my spotting abilities.
In news of spotting actually famous people - Jonathan Ross on Brewer Street.
