Diary of a Shopkeeper, 19th March

‘I saw a lovely film at the West Side Cinema at the weekend,’ said Mrs Stentorian. ‘My first time there – a wonderful new venture.’

‘It’s been going for more than ten years,’ I said, ‘But yes, it is wonderful.’

‘The thing I liked about it,’ she said, ‘was the attention to detail. It’s not just the visuals, it’s the whole wraparound sensory experience.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The film was called Pole Position. A very funny affair about a team of exotic dancers booked to perform at the North Pole. They struggled through snow and ice, they dodged polar bears, their skimpy stage gear proved quite inadequate to combat the arctic winter.’

‘I hope there was a happy ending,’ I said.

She shook her head. ‘When they finally got to the top of the world, they discovered it was been a terrible misunderstanding. The North Pole is actually the name of a gentleman’s club in Sunderland. That’s where they should have been doing their pole dancing, not the arctic at all. There was no one to see them apart from David Attenborough and a BBC film crew.’

I laughed. ‘Just as well the Beeb were up there – otherwise their adventure would’ve gone unpreserved for posterity.’

‘My point is really this,’ she said. ‘To match the setting of the film, the heating in the town hall was switched off. I think the council must have installed giant blocks of ice too, because it was as cold as charity. The end of my nose is only just thawing out.’

‘Sounds uncomfortable,’ I said.

‘It was,’ she said, ‘But it really helped the audience identify with the poor dancers in their high-heeled shoes and sparkly bikinis as they clambered over the pack-ice. At least we didn’t have marauding orcas picking off stragglers.’

‘I hate to break it to you, Henrietta,’ I said, ‘But I don’t think the freezing conditions were an artistic choice by the fine folk of the West Side Cinema. It’s simpler than that: the boiler in Stromness Town Hall isn’t working properly.’

In an instant Mrs Stentorian puffed herself up, standing straighter and taller, her eyes widening and glaring in a look I know all too well. She was in full righteous indignation mode, and I was glad the cheese counter separated us.

‘This is outrageous!’ she bellowed. ‘The town hall is an essential municipal facility. The council has a responsibility to keep it properly functioning.’

I shrugged. ‘Of course they do. But you know – tough times, money’s tight, got to balance the budget...’

She shook her head. ‘Speaking as a proud West Mainlander,’ she said, ‘I think this is another example of the council’s Kirkwall bias. They neither know nor care about what goes on in Stromness.’

‘You could throw a ping pong ball out the front door and hit the local councillor,’ I said. ‘I don’t think not knowing is the problem.’

‘I shall have to reconsider my attendance at future events in that venue,’ she said, turning to leave. ‘Luckily, I won’t have to worry about that for a week or two. I won a DVD in the raffle and can watch in the comfort of my own home next time.’

‘Which film did you win?’ I asked.

‘Titanic,’ she said from the doorway. ‘I’m off to K2 now to buy a paddling pool. I’ll adjust it to North Atlantic temperatures and plunge into it at the climax of the drama.’

‘Kate Winslet eat your heart out!’ I laughed as the door closed behind her.

Two seconds later it opened again, and she thrust her head in. ‘One more thing. Does this mean that the rather utilitarian outside toilets at the Town Hall were not specially installed to convey the hardship of arctic travel?’             

I shook my head.

‘Outrageous!’ she cried.

This diary appeared in The Orcadian on 22nd March 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