Diary of a Shopkeeper, 29th January

The door of the shop opened and in came Bruce Brass.

‘Hello Bruce,’ I cried, ‘Good to see you.’

He spluttered. ‘Don’t you start.’

‘Start what? All I said was hello.’

‘Aye, and it’s that kind of over-the-top friendliness that’s got us where we are today.’

What got me where I was, was a 15-year-old Renault Kangoo and the A964 through Orphir. But I had the feeling that wasn’t what he was getting at.

‘Here,’ I said. ‘Have a slice of slightly out-of-date Christmas panettone. I was just going to eat some with my coffee. Fancy a cup?’

‘There you go again!’ he shouted. ‘Would you stop being so blinking friendly.’

I pulled back the saucer with the cake on it. ‘You want me to be less friendly?’

‘Aye, I do. And less generous. And definitely less welcoming.’

‘But why? You’re a regular customer, I’m happy to see you.’

He shook his head and glared at me. ‘That’s how it starts. Being nice to your regular customers. Then you’re being civil to your occasional customers. And next you’re giving a hearty hello to folk you’ve never met.’

‘I should hope so.’

‘But where does it all end?’ he said, with anguish in his voice. ‘I’ll tell you: it ends with booking.com naming Kirkwall as the most welcoming town in Britain!’

I laughed. ‘I did see that right enough. Surely it’s a good thing?’

‘Think where it leads,’ he said. ‘Unkan folk in far off places read that, and before you know it, they’re turning up here on their holidays.’

‘Holidays do happen,’ I said. ‘Were you not in Prague at the New Year?’

‘That’s different. Prague’s in a foreign country. That’s what they’re for. It’s crowded enough here already, we don’t want to encourage more visitors by getting a reputation for being friendly and welcoming.’

‘It’s three in the afternoon and I’ve taken £72,’ I said. ‘To be honest I wouldn’t mind a few visitors, especially if they’ve got money to spend.’

As if on cue, the door opened, and in walked a guy in an anorak, a bobble hat, and hiking boots.

‘Hello,’ I called. ‘Come in out of the rain.’

Bruce gave me a hard stare and gritted his teeth at me.

‘Don’t mind if I do,’ said the tourist, in an American accent. ‘Though I have to say, I didn’t come here for the weather.’

‘We really should spread the word about how miserable it is here nine months of the year,’ muttered Bruce.

‘You’re miserable 12 months of the year,’ I whispered back, then turned to the tourist. ‘So what did you come for?’

‘I’m on a tour,’ he said. ‘It’s organised by Carry On Up the Orkneys, great people!’

‘Never heard of them,’ I said, ‘Are they based here?’

‘Yes. In Wolverhampton. We drove up yesterday. There’s six of us in the minibus, all Scotch! Well, with Scotch ancestors. Hence me coming here to track down my family. Is this the library? I was told it was down an alley out front of the big red church.’

‘You need to go a bit further,’ I said, and pointed out the back window. ‘Along the lane and across the road: you’ll find the Family History Society upstairs. They’ll know everything about…what’s your surname?’

‘Brass,’ he said with a grin, ‘Randy Brass. Pleased to meet you. And you too, sir.’ He turned to shake Bruce’s hand.

‘You’re a Brass? Beuy beuy!’ Bruce was suddenly wreathed in smiles. ‘That makes us sib folk! Well, cousin, welcome to Orkney. How long are you here for? I’ll tell you what, I’ll take you across to the archives, then we can find out how we’re connected. And after that, we’ll celebrate with a wee dram.’

‘That’s mighty kind of you,’ said Randy. ‘A real Orkney welcome!’

‘Ach, we’re notorious for it,’ said Bruce.

The atmospheric photo of Wolverhampton at the top of this blog was taken by Darren Friel. The offices of Carry On Up the Orkneys are believed to be on the 17th floor of the tower block in the distance, though we could be wrong about that.

This diary appeared in The Orcadian on 1st February 2023. A new one appears weekly. I post them in this blog a few days after each newspaper appearance, with added illustrations., and occasional small corrections or additions.