Diary of a Shopkeeper, 5th July
It was the last day of the first week open. The shop smelled of bleach, as it does after our daily deep-clean. We long for someone to ask us to grind their coffee beans so the wonderful aroma of Choro or Cafe Torino blots it out. Failing that, slicing up some Stinking Bishop is an effective odour replacement, though hardly what you’d call a pleasant perfume.
First through our door this morning was none other than Willie Pickle.
‘Not often we see you in the big city, Willie,’ I said.
‘I ken. But Inga was telling me we all had to support our local shops these days, so I thought I better venture in.’
‘Great! So what can I get you?’
‘Nothing really. I just came in for a blether.’
‘Oh, okay. Well stand over there by the wine, will you, I’ve got to fill up the pasta section and we’re meant to be two metres apart.’
‘Wine? I’m more of a whisky man myself.’
‘Seeing as you’re not buying anything, it doesn’t really matter does it?’
He shuffled from one foot to another, screwing his face up. ‘It’s just that someone might come in and see me looking at the wine,’ he said. ‘And word might get out…’
‘And what word would that be, Willie? Would it not be, ‘furtivver’?’
‘Morning all!’ A shout from the doorway. It was Mr K, squirting sanitiser from the bottle over his hands. ‘First time in town for three months,’ he said.
‘Shielding?’ said Willie, edging towards the Highland Park shelf.
‘No, I just don’t like Kirkwall,’ said Mr K, and laughed. I think he was joking, though you can never be sure. Now he was patting his cheeks with the hand sanitiser. ‘Splash it all over!’ he cried.
‘So what can I do you for?’ I said.
‘It’s more of complaint than anything, beuy. You see that cheese you delivered last week?’
‘It was Minger, wasn’t it? A washed rind cheese from Tain?’
‘Aye, well, that’s the problem, it was washed ower well, and it wasn’t nearly minging enough.’
‘So you didn’t like the taste of it?’
‘It was never intended for eating. I bought it as a weapon of self-defence. You ken Breckback along from us? Well, they’ve got their bull in a field the size of a bratto for some reason, and it’s getting very frustrated – the kye are just the other side of the road, you see. So when me and Mrs K go for a walk we’re in fear of being gored every time we go up Breckback Brae. That’s why I asked you to bring out a chunk of the stinkiest cheese you had – so I could wave it at the bull if it louped over the fence at us.’
‘Yas, that makes sense,’ chipped in Willie Pickle. ‘They’re very sensitive to smell, kye. Though I heard vinegar was what they really hated.’
‘Put a pin in it, fellas…’ Now it was Kiwi Kate at the door, the bottom half of her face covered in a mask with a Māori tattoo design. ‘It’s horses that hate vinegar. That and electricity, they can’t stand the smell of electric fences.’
Mr K stepped towards the counter as Kate came inside. ‘Have you got any cheese that’s worse than Minger?’ he said.
‘Well if you mean worse as in smellier, there is Stinking Bishop.’
‘Sounds good, beuy. Here’s the wrapper from last week: slap a bit of Bishop in there would you. We smeared the Minger all over that bull’s snout but still he kept shuitan against the fence. I take it there’ll be no charge, seeing as the last one was a disappointment?’
I sighed. ‘Kate,’ I said. ‘I’m up to my maximum customers now. Please tell me you want to actually spend some money.’
‘Yeh no, bro. I just wondered when the dentist next door opened?’
After Kate left, Willie and Mr K shook their heads at each other. ‘The problem with some folk,’ said Willie, ‘Is they just don’t understand the importance of shopping local.’
his diary appeared in The Orcadian on 9th July. Other diaries will appear weekly. I am posting them in this blog a few days after each newspaper appearance, with added illustrations., and occasional small corrections or additions.
Any resemblance to any actual customers of Kirkness & Gorie is entirely concidental!