Sometimes during this happy fortnight I just went about my business. I was walking down Kensington High Street one day when I remembered that my wife had instructed me to get some grocery items, so I popped into Marks and Spencer’s. It had evidently undergone a big refurbishment since I was last there. In the middle of the main floor, where there used to be an escalator, there was now a staircase, which I thought odd – why replace an escalator with stairs? – but the really big surprise was when I went down to the basement and discovered that the food hall was gone. I walked all over, but there was nothing for sale down there but clothes.
I went up to a young sales assistant who was folding T-shirts and asked him where the food hall was.
‘Don’t have a food hall,’ he said without looking up.
‘You got rid of the food hall?’ I said in astonishment.
‘Never had one.’
Now I have to say right here that I didn’t like this young man already because he had a vaguely insolent air. Also, he had a lot of gel in his hair. My family tell me that you can’t dislike people just because they have gel in their hair, but I think it is as good a reason as any.
‘That’s nonsense,’ I said. ‘There’s always been a food hall here.’
‘Never been one here,’ he responded blandly. ‘There’s no food halls in any of our stores.’
“Well, pardon me for saying so, but you’re an idiot,’ I said matter-of-factly. ‘I have been coming here since the early 1970s, and there’s always been a food hall. Every Marks and Spencer’s in the country has a food hall.’
He looked at me for the first time, with a kind of unfolding interest. ‘This isn’t a Marks and Spencer’s,’ he said with something like real pleasure. ‘This is H&M.’
I stared at him for a long moment as I adjusted to this new intelligence.
‘Marks and Spencer’s is next door,’ he added.
I was quiet for about fifteen seconds. ‘Well, you’re still an idiot,’ I said quietly and turned on my heel, but I don’t think it had the devastating effect I was hoping for.
Tuesday, February 27, 2018
I stared at him for a long moment as I adjusted to this new intelligence.
From The Road to Little Dribbling: Adventures of an American in Britain by Bill Bryson. Page 57.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment