My inane 'hop, skip and jump' disposition of the day has been subjugated, quelled by the grotesque pantomime that is played out on a daily basis in every 'Primarni' store across the land. The wails of the maddening banshees pierce my senses, wailing that warns of an impending death.

Good day beautiful people

Another glorious Spring day and my self-diagnosed winter-based Seasonal Affective Disorder is screaming from the Bastille, imprisoned in the bleak disorder and throes of the winter just passed.  My inane 'hop, skip and jump' disposition of the day has been subjugated, quelled by the grotesque pantomime that is played out on a daily basis in every 'Primarni' store across the land. After my minor role in today's matinee, I realised I'm old and my Bohemian style and character has been traduced by Mr Primarni.



'Primarni' (a pseudonym of Primark) is a very low cost fashion retailer and a purchase of necessity, of economical sense, invited me into this afternoons matinee. With the imminent hospital confinement looming, I needed to purchase;

A:  a dressing gown

B:  a pair of slippers

C:  pyjamas

The unmovable staining the 'Dith' treatment will leave on the garments means they will all be disposed of on discharge, so I was not prepared to pay dear for any of these purchases. The local 'Primarni' was the only option. On entering the store I am instantly confronted with the bedlam that is the womens section. The more ordered and serene mens floor is accessible via the stairs, climbing high on the horizon line across this raging sea of anarchy.  I stop at the door. Less than confident that my navigational skills has found find the safest and expeditious route to the beckoning stairs, I am carried away in the crush, losing my footing on the clothing that have been violently rip from the rails and left scattered across the floor, in the death throes of their finest hour. The wails of the maddening banshees pierced my senses, wailing that warns of an impending death.

"IF SHE PICKS UP THAT LAST SIZE 10 FROCK SHE'S GOING DOWN"

"WHAT? YEA, I KNOW I'M A 12 BUT IT'S ONLY THURSDAY AND I'VE GOT TWO DAYS TILL SATURDAY TO DROP A SIZE. JUST HURRY UP WILL YA, GRAB IT"

I begin to hyperventilate.

I reach the stairs and take a seat on the eighth step till my breathing returns to normal. The bedlam below me is incessant and will have to be revisited or I could just sit here for the next 8 hours till closing time.

My breathing returns and I ascend the stairs to the mens floor. All is quiet and there is order as the predominantly male shoppers peruse the rails. I find the nightwear section and go straight for the dressing gowns. Now, this is when the realisation started sinking in. I don't own or would not contemplate purchasing a dressing gown to wear at home, that's what my slouchers are for. But I now find myself  'touching' the material for softness and warmth, checking the labels for the material information, humming and ahhing over the design and colour. I even try them on, luxuriating in their big, loving, soft and warm hug, exhaling a long affectionate sigh.

"WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING?"

Oops that was a big loud.

Didn't get any better when choosing the pyjamas and as for the slippers; I found myself shoeless and sockless parading down the aisles in a pair of  'Toasty Toes' slippers, a stupid 'look at me' expression sat on my smug face

Transaction complete,  I found myself back on the eighth step, paper shopping bag clutched tightly to my side pondering whether I should sit here, safe and protected, till closing time.

"B@LL@X.........I WANT A SMOKE AND I'M HUNGRY"

Oops, too loud again.

"If I time it right, I could probably bounce of the manic heads of the banshees and make that final dive that will propel me through the open doors leaving an abrupt body sprawled at the feet of the passing street traffic, battered and bruised, clutching a 'Primarni' paper shopping bag...WHERE'S THE WEIRD LITTLE XBOX KID WHEN YOU NEED HIM? HE COULD SAFELY NAVIGATE ME THROUGH THIS THUNDERDOME, THIS GLADIATORIAL ARENA. HE BRINGS HELLFIRE AND DAMNATION DOWN ON THE ZOMBIE FLESH EATERS FOR GOD'S SAKE. HE COULD HANDLE THIS".

Damn, too loud again.

I bounced off the heads.

This, my friends, has been a true account of my day and I am now slouching on the couch, my cuts and grazes dressed in a variety of different sized Band-Aids, smelling of TCP, watching Spartacus: Gods Of The Arena, with a much needed beer in my hand.


Love, peace and please forgive my retail indiscretions  (but I did see a comfortable looking cardigan and a pair of practical summer slip-ons whilst passing the British Home Stores window


                                                                   Cluski