Like wading through vomit while having excrement constantly thrown in your face. 

Some years ago this is how a mate of mine described the week after Christmas in retail and while it's a bit graphic it does get across the message quite cogently. And that was in the good old days. 

There is no doubt that for the modern independent retailer on the high street Christmas is the ultimate poison chalice. 

What used to be a bumper time for such a business has turned into something of a nightmare scenario. I can speak from experience after over thirty years at the sharp end as a small town retailer across a number of different product sectors. 

The first thing i'd say is that you should be very wary of what so called retail analysts tell you. Generally speaking these folk have little to no experience of actual on the ground retailing. Moreover examining broad trends ,while useful, does not tell the full story...as always the devil is in the detail and detail generally gets overlooked.  

Moreover there is a tendency for those that are asked for feedback on the retail scene not to tell the complete truth..gilding the lily pretty much goes with the territory and it's rare for any retail representative to come clean about how bad things really are. Most hedge their bets.  

We are now in the week after Christmas as i write this and to give some perspective here's a comparison. Four years ago on Christmas Eve alone we would have lifted more in takings than we took in the entire six days prior to Christmas Day this year.  Considerably more. The week after Christmas used to be our busiest of the year...that week at the height of things five or six years back would have compared to an average quieter MONTHS takings. This year we will be doing well over the five days to match a normal to average to busy week...and that will be pushing it. I'd say if you compared our figures from say 6 years ago we would be down as much as 70 percent...to be honest I no longer do so as it is too demoralising. Seeing it in black and white would perhaps finally push me over the edge. As it is last festive season was the worst ever for the shop...this year it will be a big achievement to get within shouting distance of it. Very few people would actually believe how bad its become...but it has. And it's getting worse. 

The reason? Well several no doubt but chiefly the Internet. Nothing has done more to devastate high street retail over the past few scant years and that trend is set to continue unabated. At this rate within a decade i'd be surprised if there are any of us left. Perhaps I am being over generous allowing a decade frankly. All the talk of bricks and mortar retail cohabiting symbiotically with the net is wishful thinking bordering on delusion...flys rarely cohabit with large hungry spiders. A few larger chains may be able to combine the two for a while but the soaring overheads of  maintaining a presence on the high street will make any such long term fusion of the two mediums a forlorn hope. The Internet may be a driver of volume, especially for the larger operators but it is a graveyard for profits...at least as far as any third party retailer is concerned. As more business moves on line (with limited margin available) the diminishing returns of physical retail will soon render itself obsolete. It's good bye high street...along with the jobs and business rates that go with it. If you think differently you are either in cloud cuckoo land or have no knowledge of modern retail. Then when you add in the general economic squeeze, and allow for the uncertainty of Brexit , not to mention the preponderance of discount/outlet selling then you have a pretty bleak outlook if you are a small, independent business trying to stay afloat. A minnow in a sea of sharks with the water draining. Basically we are fucked. We are a walking corpse only refusing to lie down through sheer stubbornness and an awareness that there is not much else some of us can turn our hands to. So what is to be done?  

Well on the face of it not much to be honest. Ongoing financial uncertainty combined with the pre-eminence of the internet will ensure that there is no respite for independent bricks and mortar retailers. Perhaps the fight is just lost and that is it. The end. 

And what of the "if you can't beat them join them" argument and go online? Well if only it were that simple. For a small cash strapped  not so tech savy retailer to get on line is not easy...and not cheap. Also assuming you actually get set up on there, competing with the big boys is almost impossible...for a variety of reasons. Specialization and niche appeal are words often thrown around but they still have to overcome the overwhelming difficulty of SEO and all it's myriad complexities. Then you have to try and make money...turnover alone won't keep you in business. 

For myself i suspect this coming year will be the last throw of the dice. I am considering doing something with Shopify, one of the better "template" crowd ...low set up costs and minimal ongoing maintenance charge combined with (hopefully) reasonable performance and visibility. The latter remains to be seen. As to what exactly that "something" will be well i'm not quite sure. It will be outdoor product...but i suspect it will have to be a bit more focused than in store. That is assuming i have the cash to buy stock...there is no guarantee. 

When I began this blog it was the day after boxing day. It's now New Year's Eve and trade this week has been nothing short of pitiful. No one can survive indefinitely on scraps and I am no exception. That may not matter much in the grand scheme of things but according to the experts SMEs like myself are the backbone of the local economy...well in that case the local economy is well and truly fucked. As I remarked to a smart arse "shop visitor" recently, Amazon won't pay for the local leisure centre or supply a voucher for the local football club's tom-bola. He was of course far to too thick to make the connection. In the end if you want the option of local retail and the money it pumps into the area then you need to support it. Otherwise it's history. Use it or lose it. I think it's too late for myself but we shall see. Perhaps i will be proved wrong. 

There is more to be said on the personal front but this will do for now. If you are reading this then you are part of a very select group and I wish you a fulfilling and healthy New Year. 

We can always hope. 

In the Dark

Always dangerous to write a blog when you are in a bad mood but here we go...well perhaps sour is a better description than bad. It's been a while since i've done one....just haven't had the inclination to be honest as i'm not a natural writer of things really. Back to that aforementioned mood. It's like a sour feeling in the pit of the stomach basically...but it's been ongoing for a while now. Nothing has been particularly right in my thinking for the past few years now to be honest...and being honest i'm not really sure how i feel about a lot of things. I know i get angry...not outbursts like a couple of years back, more a sort of underlying, rumbling anger that is akin to background noise as much as anything. It's not really focused on anything in particular but it's there and it rankles. There's also this sense of detachment from things...like i'm in a kind of bubble at times. And yet i'm far from detached ...reality very definitely bites on a regular basis whether it's business related or stuff with the kids or niggling health issues.  In a way i'm pretty settled into the routine of being back at my fathers place...at times i annoy myself with wondering why i didn't make the move back sooner instead of frittering away rent to a stranger. Another reason for anger i suppose...there's nothing like a bit of self recrimination to get the juices flowing. The shop is a struggle...to put it mildly. Business is practically non existent at the minute and i see little prospect of an improvement. It's a bit like grinding along on the exposed axle...the tyres having long departed the scene. Running on Empty to quote Jackson Brown....though i'm sure he wasn't referring to a failing outdoor clothing business. Struggling to pay suppliers...thinning stock...lack of customers through the door...basically the slippery slope if i'm honest. Trudging on cos it's all i know and there's really no viable alternative...not really in the best frame of mind to engage with the increasingly demanding and obtuse consumer...what few there are of them. That contradictory feeling of being glad to see someone come in but also almost afraid to approach them in case you miss the sale. You can only understand that if you work in retail to be honest. But there it is. Standing in the shop these days trying to stave off suppliers baying for blood while putting on a brave face for the few visitors who do grace the place with their presence (mostly just lookers) is akin to mental torture frankly. Last week i had a couple of days running with no takings...not for the first time of late....something that would have been virtually unthinkable a few years back. Two ducks in a row is hard to stomach. On many days it is a struggle to do three figures. Yes you read that correctly. And it is not just me and not just here. I speak to enough retailers to know that. Things are dire...whatever anyone says publicly. Unless of course you are a coffee shop...or a funeral undertaker. I have not the capital to invest in the former nor the temperament for the latter. What to do?  Well i've no idea...at the minute i resemble a rabbit caught in the headlights of an approaching train...and i am rooted to the spot. The story of my life in some ways. I still cling to the hope that things will turn..that there will be a bit of an uplift...that some more of those FB likes will turn into actual sales...that the companies will be patient. All doubtful but we shall see.  At  present there is nothing to do but keep the head down and carry on...even if it continues to produce the same result. How depressing this is . And i still haven't even got to my sour mood. In truth it is as a result of something and nothing...a perceived sleight and of no real consequence. But these days it doesn't take much. When you are brittle the slightest touch can shatter you. I've learnt that the hard way so tend to avoid much contact. There are also several things which i am deliberately ignoring...they are not to be faced at the moment. I'm sitting in the dark here in the car waiting for my daughter to come out of her music lesson...too much time to think you see. Especially today. The mind wanders over things best left to posterity. I've learnt that no matter what you cannot really escape the past.....it may be another country but it's borders are too easily breached. Fingers of memory poke and prod at every piece of scar tissue, looking for a response that too often still comes. I'm not even sure anymore what lies beneath those scars...but i do know they are still raw enough. Perhaps i am angry because i can no longer take big sips of pain the way i once did....now there's just this vague sense of unease and..well loss i suppose. Perhaps i should be grateful it's not as keenly felt. Or as all pervasive. Somehow though it doesn't work that way. Pain is a blunt instrument at times.

I will upload this shortly. And trudge on.

Gutters and rain.

Odd title. Well to be honest I couldn't think of one and the reason for that one will become evident. I don't find these blogs easy...it's like I clam up inside when I go to write them so we will see if anything remotely useful comes forth. Two subjects I rarely address on here are faith and relationships. Well not head on...I skirt the edges of both now and again...I'm not sure I'd call this head on to be honest but it's not quite skirting either. The last few months have been...well...flat I suppose is as good a word as any. The shop has been a grind ...nothing new there...and my health has been indifferent. Whether it's diet or stress or just ongoing niggling intestinal issues I've been struggling a bit physically ...oddly enough pretty much the same as last year around this time. When people ask me how I am these days I find it hard to come up with an answer...pretty much the usual tends to be the stock one and in truth it's as good as any. The thing about living alone (well pretty much alone) is that after a while you kind of lose track of yourself a little...if that makes sense. Maybe "drift" is a better word. There is drift basically...nothing dramatic or particularly notable but it's there. A certain withdrawal. A feeling of detachment that while not marked is definitely there. I don't go out much...I have no real desire to socialise and have to force myself to do so...even with the small group I would consider close friends. I make excuses for not going places...I put off visits...I am becoming what is known as odd. I had an uncle ...Bob (long dead) ...who we used to call that ...he had never married and lived a solitary but contented existence...people knew he was a bit odd so they didn't bother asking him to things which I used to think was a bit unkind though having entered that territory myself of late I now consider that he was quite fortunate...he did not have to compromise his oddness.  He was a quiet, simple soul who worked hard all his life...physical labour. Bob was small but very fit...or tight as we might say. He lived with my great aunt next door to us most of my life...well until I was a teenager. When she has to go into residential care Bob would come and get his meals with us...not all the time but usually on set days...basically he came and went as he pleased. I had always had an affinity with him...from my earliest memories of him as a child there was something that pulled me to him...that fascinated me about him. He was not a talker...nor was he well educated...I expect these days he might even be considered to have learning difficulties...then he was just a bit odd. He could be awkward and stubborn at times and did not take advice well...but he was...well...totally without guile...what you saw was what you got ...it wasn't filtered through anything first. I suppose you could say I was close to him...I spent a lot of time in his company as a kid...Newry was not that welcoming a place and I rarely had friends to the house...I was a bit of a loner...not unlike Bob. I don't ever remember having an in depth conversation with him about anything. But I do remember that I felt at ease  in his company...he was always working outdoors, from gardening to cutting hedges (a particular obsession with him though we did have a lot of hedges) and I was often to be found "helping" him in the school holidays ..especially the long summer months. He  was a rough man..always wearing those thick cotton brushed work shirts (the ones that had the spare collars) and often dungarees or boiler suit. He had sideburns...and a thick head of hair...picture if you will Logan/Wolverine from the Xmen but a shorter less photogenic version. He was tough...and a hard worker...even when approaching 70 he was doing the work of two men about the place. I don't ever remember us really falling out...though I'm pretty sure I must have been a pollution to him as he tried to work with me in tow. I remember his watches...big round faces with leather straps...I always wanted a watch like Bob's. I remember those  summer days now with a certain amount of nostalgia...but they were good days. It's the only time in my life that I remember being completely happy...I'm sure there were darker moments but I don't recall them. Perhaps it is just that nostalgia we associate with certain parts of our youth. Of course nothing is permanent. Around 78/79 my parents decided we would move to Banbridge

..it made practical sense as I was at school there amongst other things but it meant that Bob would be left alone. He could of course have moved with us but there was no way that was going to happen. I recall the sense of unease I had when it sank in that things were going to change...I'm pretty certain he felt it more though we never broached the subject between us. I still remember the December night we drive away from the house for the last time with him watching...he wasn't generally expressive of his emotions but I'm fairly sure he was crying. Of course despite initial difficulties he adjusted to the situation and was a frequent visitor to our new location....it wasn't the same of course but I was well into my teens now and had other fish to fry....I guess I was too preoccupied to think too much about Bob or how he was feeling. Fast forward nearly 15 years and I was engaged to be married...I still saw Bob on a regular enough basis but he was getting on and had not been very well...he was as tough as old boots but this time he was very sick and unable to keep food down for more than a few hours...he was also heavily jaundiced. The inevitable diagnosis of pancreatic cancer came and went and almost six months to the day of it Bob was laid to rest. His last few weeks had been a struggle...to put it mildly. The last time I ever saw him alive I went out of the hospital room and prayed to God that he would take him that night ...he'd suffered enough. Now I would say that it was coincidence but when the phone went later that night I knew that the prayer had been answered...Bob was gone.

And the point to all this? Well none really. It's been a long time since I thought about my "wee" uncle ....since I've thought much about my childhood to be honest. The emotional dislocation of the last few years has pushed many things just out of reach...or it feels like that. Hard to explain. More than anything it's maybe that my description of myself as becoming a bit odd sparked off these recollections. Perhaps I am becoming like Bob ...in my own way of course. That would be ironic of course...given our closeness all those many summers ago...but maybe it would also be fitting in its way. Maybe. 

And the title...you'll have to wait... I'll get back to that. 

Crawling things

I remember as a kid in Newry we lived directly next door to my great aunt and the two houses were connected at the back by a long corridor...the two dwellings were joined and there were the separate gardens on a hill at the back leading up to a big field. The garden at her side was bordered by a low wall with red slates firmly attached...well all but one of them which was completely loose and if you lifted it there was this seething mass of ...well I think we called them slaters...little black armadillo like crawlers each about the size of a finger nail. I'm not sure what the correct technical name is for them but I do know they will give you a nasty bite if you disturb them and I can still see that gap between the slates host to what must have been a full colony of the things milling about. I wouldn't say I was terrified of them or even revulsed but I certainly wasn't putting my hand anywhere near them and every time I would lift the loose slate and have a peek there was an involuntary shiver that went through me at the sight of them. Now I knew they would be there...and barring the freezing cold of winter perhaps they always were...they may well be yet if that slate us still loose though I suspect thirty years on the wall is long gone. But even though they made the skin crawl for some reason I could not walk past that bloody slate without lifting it and peeking underneath...almost every time. And almost every time my reaction was the same ..to drop it quickly and make a "yuck" noise in my head.  It was as if I was drawn to that loose slate...compelled by some strange inner force to poke at it and reveal the inevitable and familiar corruption beneath it. I still see the odd "slater"...mostly indoors as it happens and each time my mind shoots back to that row of red slates and its secret...I always kill them as there is just something extremely unpleasant about the thought of even one of them lurking about ...it's a visceral reaction devoid of reason or logic. They are just a harmless wood louse or something of that ilk, with little in the way of intent to harm...well little or no intent full stop I'd imagine. But I don't like the little buggers...ill take spiders any day.  

And the point of this completely mundane recollection? Well not much of a one to be honest. It just occurs to me that there is this propensity in us...well in me anyway...to revisit the  past ...to pick at it like a scab. Much in the way I couldn't really bring myself to go past that loose slate without looking underneath. I knew what would be there each time and I knew I wouldn't like it very much. And yet I was drawn to it. It's the same with the past...and in particular certain parts of it. I don't do it as much these days but I still do it. In the darkest recesses there are nasty, seething crawling things...much worse than slaters and their ilk...and much harder to kill. They really should stay there and die but every now and again I can't resist lifting the slate...and gazing underneath. Sometimes if I'm really foolish I will poke at what's there...always a mistake but always a strong temptation. It's as if you need a sip of the pain to fully remember what it's like...that you need to re taste some of the loss and grief and anger to keep you honest...or because as with all grief and loss it is tinged with other feelings...of love and need perhaps. Maybe it's a bit like the phantom pain you get when you loose a limb...sort of...or maybe it's something entirely different that words can't fully express. So you need that visceral kick...that lurch of the soul (whatever that is) that the unearthed memory brings with it. Or maybe I just like to torture myself ...I've been told there is comfort of sorts in emotional pain in that it is familiar to us and it is after all OUR pain and not someone else's. Anyway...who knows. I just know I do it and there it is. I doubt I'm alone in that regard. It's probably a coping mechanism of sorts. And I really must stop taking it out on a defenseless creepy crawly. 

Easter.

Another Easter weekend. Doesn't seem a year since the last one frankly...and here I am in the same old same old...staring at a now empty coffee mug in Cafe Crem in a rainy and wind swept Newcastle...pretty much what I did last year if memory serves me. As I write the (hardly very original) tilte to this I was thinking of the Patti Smith album of the same name...it's cover sticks in my mind from when I first clocked it in what was then Woolworths in Banbridge circa 1978  or thereabouts. It was summer and Because the Night had gotten to number 5 in the charts at the time... I was unaware that the song was Bruce Springsteens at the time and I had never heard of the Patti Smith Group as it then was but there was something about it that grabbed me and still does...her version that is. I was a teenager and there was something about the picture of her on the album cover that also gripped me...no doubt some of it was down to teenage hormones but there was a rawness and a wildness in that picture that went beyond mere titilation..even then. Nor was it a conventionally "sexy" pic...whatever that would have meant to me at the time...but it has stayed with me ever since even though I've not seen the cover again more than once or twice in over thirty years. I remember thinking she was beautiful...as I stood there that Saturday afternoon all those years ago. Of course such things are in the eye of the beholder and she would not be regarded as a conventional beauty...a term I will pass over quickly as it is pretty much meaningless. I was a geeky nerdy type who would have run a mile  from any "conventionally attractive" female so it is perhaps not that strange that I found this dark haired and somewhat gothic looking woman attractive  ...at the time I was only vaguely aware of the punk rock scene though I spent a lot of that summer poking about in the local independent record store (the late lamented Itrecords) learning what I could. It was a dingy little box of a place but it had some of the more obscure stuff that Woolys would not have touched...I used to scan hungrily through the masses of vinyl album covers packed closely together, a bit nervous as the shop tended to be a gathering point for a mix of bikers, goths and punks  (not to say some punk goth bikers no doubt). They would congregate up at the little counter and chat to the bearded owner...harmless enough no doubt but to an awkward thirteen year old their presence was a bit intimidating...usually I would walk past a few times before going in to make sure the coast was clear. It wasn't the "safe" environment of Woolworths but then maybe that was the point ...you weren't going to find Richard Hell and the Void Oids, Wayne County and the Electric Chairs or Devo in Woolys. So many album covers ...so many bands...I was fascinated by the whole culture...not that that is how I understood it at the time. Without wishing to sound like a perve I could say that my sexual awakening...such as it was...occurred in that little shop with the fusty carpet and the rows and rows of vinyl...i would always find my way to the covers of Down in the Bunker by Steve Gibbons or Roxy Music's Country Life...to name but two.  But more importantly there was another sort of awakening...an interest in music and in the culture surrounding it...a vivid panoply of images both photographic and graphic that laid the ground work for my continuing obsession for all things pop culture related...and many things artistic from street art through to body art...indeed all forms of art. Yes it probably all started in that little record shack amongst the intimidating goths and bikers...walking past it the other day ..or rather where it used to be ...there was a pang of nostalgia for a time that I only truly appreciate now that it is long gone. Around the same time and feeding into that particular zeitgeist was a growing interest in comics...especially those hard to find American imports that only seemed to be available in ...again...small and dingy little newsagents off the beaten track. One such up in Portrush, down past where Troggs Surf Shop now is comes to mind...so small that you could not really stand more than two deep but packed with wonders from Marvel, DC and others...it was from there (I think) that I purchased the Conan the Barbarian "Song of Red Sonja" sometime around 1975 that introduced me to the art of Barry Windsor Smith...another milestone as for the first time I became aware of the sheer beauty of art...I can still see those panels in my mind (sadly the comic is long since gone...though it is now eminently collectible). I can't remember the exact point in time when that little shop closed but it must have been in the early eighties...I still can see it in my minds eye when I pass the spot where it was...now the side wall of a building.  Sometimes in dafter moments I day dream that it is still there...hidden somehow behind that wall like something out of Dr Who...shielded from view in another dimension...if only you could find a way through...or back to a time and a place that throbbed with possibility and that feeling of invincible and unimpeachable optimism that comes with being an eleven year old in a comic shop uncovering wonders. I suppose that is the essence of nostalgia...whether it is the sweep of Patti Smiths dark tresses or the immersive beauty of a BWS tableau ....it will differ for everyone. And it is hard to pin down as are most things of value and meaning...the things that stir the senses in the moment  and that we would go back and reclaim if only we could ...and yet deep down we would not because somehow we know it would not be the same and it is better left in the relative security of untouchable memory. And so that is that...funny the way things come to mind as they do. It will doubtless make little sense to anyone but myself but I mainly write this stuff for myself so it's of no matter. 

Happy Easter. 

I'm back

Lousy title I know but truthful. I haven't actually been anywhere of course but such is the sporadic nature of my blogging that a six or ten month gap is not that noteworthy. This is just a short catch up and statement of intent. I won't ramble too much.  

Basically since I last communicated I have moved back to my dads place after nearly four years on my own. I was dreading it but in actual fact it's worked out well enough and more importantly is saving me money...the main reason I did it. To be honest I am now kicking myself that I did not move back a couple of years ago. Initially I needed the space (not literally but psychologically) that the "house" (it was never home...that's a term that's now redundant pretty much) afforded ...I probably would have gone mad had I not gone down that route so I don't absolutely regret it. Hindsight of course offers a slightly more discordant view of things but doesn't it always. Anyway I have settled back in reasonably well...I keep to my part of the bungalow and our paths rarely cross except in the kitchen or hall...that suits us both quite honestly. My main reservation was going back to living with someone after 4 years of welcome solitude. I've long given up trying to explain to people that living with your ageing parent after a marriage split is far from ideal...it is best simply to keep ones counsel and get on with things. There are of course issues rumbling away below the surface...mainly financial stuff and a big potential issue that I am customarily avoiding in the hope that it goes away...a familiar modus operandi that gets no more efficacious with age and repetition.  However it is how I roll. Business continues to be ...well...crap basically. Having a shop that is continually on a knife edge financially is not conducive to a relaxed or settled existence. So my existence is neither. The constant clench in the pit of the stomach is something you never really get used to...and it is good at making its presence felt in the wee small hours as the thoughts go tumbling uncontrollably...or the spin cycle as some call it. I have no solution to that one except to grind on and hope for the best...any small improvement would be welcome business wise but it is hard to see where it will come from. But that's a blog for another day. On the personal front FB and other social media continue to distract from the somewhat harsh and unyielding feel of things ...though sometimes they also reinforce the sense of isolation and difficulty...bit of a poison chalice but they keep me mildly sane. Indeed it's partly thanks to a friend on FB that I'm writing this...she provided a much needed spur...you know who you are. I had hoped to get back to some walking this year as I could do withthe exercise as well as the distraction but I now have a very sore hip...possibly siattica...so that may curtail things. I also have rumblings in the IBS department ...it hit around late spring last year so I'm bracing myself...I'm continually reminded by well meaning people that it is stress related and I have run out of sarcastic replies. There's other stuff too...not for this blog...a hangover of the past (well several) that may lead to some conflict very soon ...I am continually braced it seems. Then there is the day to day stuff that trips you up...blah blah blah. And shards of memory that stab at you out of nowhere ...sometimes that's the worst thing because it's sudden and unexpected and you thought it dead and buried long ago. On this occasion a glance at a photograph brought it on...only last night. And for a good half hour I was fighting off the blackest of moods...laced with bittersweet memory...or in this case struggling to remember certain things that I had not considered important for a long time...family stuff...the stuff that can jump up and bite and draw blood when you think it tamed and dealt with. I should know better. Nothing stays buried. There is no hole deep enough at times. Hey ho. 

That's it for now.