Diary of a Shopkeeper, 16th August
Bruce Brass’s shopping list.
The queue for the dump stretched out of the gates, back onto Crowness Crescent, up to Buildbase – where there was a careful gap across the entrance – then carried on for two or three cars in front of Gray’s.
I’d been there half an hour already, so was quite near the front in my van, with Bruce Brass immediately in front of me in his Braelander. If you’re wondering, it’s basically a Land Rover Freelander, with the word Free crossed out and the word Brae painted in above. Bruce is very artistic, and also very keen on accordion music.
To be exact, Bruce wasn’t in the vehicle, he was sitting on the grass verge in a lawn chair, with a flask of tea at his side and a cup in his hand. Since we’d been waiting, he’d had to jump back into the Braelander and move it forward six times, then return to shift his chair
‘What if it was rain?’ I said. ‘Where would you sit then?’
‘If it was rainy the queue wouldn’t be near so long,’ he said. ‘Half of these are just fair-weather recyclers, they’re not serious about it. I mean, look at that pair.’
He gestured with his tea a couple of cars further up the queue, where an elderly man and woman were standing on the verge next to a Vauxhall Agila, dressed in what appeared to be full bee-keepers outfits: wide-brimmed hats, veils, and white plastic overalls.
‘What’s the point in recycling your plastic,’ he said, ‘‘if you have to dress in disposable plastic to do it? They’ll be back next week in new overalls to recycle the old ones.’
‘That’s a bit harsh,’ I said. ‘They might have a good reason for the get-ups. I don’t ken – allergies maybe?’
He snorted. ‘Like hay fever?’
‘Could be. Or maybe they’re just really, really worried about the virus. They could be vulnerable.’
‘Vulnerable in the head,’ he said.
‘Jeez, what’s got into you today? You’re awful pleepy. Have you been reading Have a Moan Orkney again? With your blood pressure...’
‘I’ll tell you what’s got into me,’ he interrupted. ‘I was down the street earlier doing my shopping – aye, shopping local, you drummed that into me – and I’d parked half-way up Buttquoy Crescent. So I’d been into Shearer’s, filled my rucksack with all manner of good stuff. Then I hiked up Victoria Road, turned left, went striding happily along with my knapsack on my back.’
He took a gulp of tea to calm his nerves, but I could see he was getting het up.
‘Just then, a window in the flats opened up, and a woman skraiked at me, ‘Go home you ******* tourist! We don’t want your ***** sort here!’ And before I could see where it came from, the window slammed shut again.’
I couldn’t help laughing.
‘It’s not funny,’ he said. ‘I was born and raised here, I’m no tourist. And even if I was, who’s she to tell me where to go after I’d put all that money into the local economy with my refilled milk bottle and my sourdough loaf.’
‘Don’t judge by appearances,’ I said. ‘Like you shouldn’t with that folk up ahead.’
He was about to reply, but there was a sudden babble of voices in the queue, and the sound of an engine or two starting up. Bruce jumped to his feet, grabbed a pair of binoculars from beside his flask, and examined the action at the dump gates.
There was a clang, and a rattling of chains, and a general groan from everyone waiting.
‘There’s a sign gone up,’ he said, ‘Skips now full: reopening 11am tomorrow.’ He shook his head. ‘There’s too much bruck built up in this town!’
I sighed, checked my watch. Dinner hour was over, and it was time to get back to work. ‘Same place, same time tomorrow?’ I said.
‘It’s the new normal,’ said Bruce.
This diary appeared in The Orcadian on 20th August 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.