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30/7/2020 0 Comments

There have been a lot of environmental changes lately, haven’t there? Social distancing, alcohol on hands rather than in mouths, and all of us looking like bandits about to attack wagon trains in westerns (yes, I really am that old).

We experienced a big downturn in visitors to our shop when the wearing of masks became compulsory last Friday; family groups especially were more reluctant to browse as the ‘barriers’ to doing so seemed too high. Thankfully – a bit like semolina – we all get used to the less savoury things in life and are mercifully able to return fairly quickly to sweet equilibrium. It’s all about balance really: risk and reward; Mega Sours or Sugared Almonds.

Sunday morning was beautiful. Whether you believe in the God of all Creation or scientists in uncannily white coats, there was no fake news about the clear blue skies, against which birds soared – finding their warm thermals in the gentle breeze, which brushed refreshingly against my face.

Outside the shop was gathered a group of largely middle-aged singletons, sitting on fold-up picnic chairs along the middle-edged strip of Worcester High Street. It always amuses me how hard the middle-classes work to look as though they are streetwise and edgy – a bit like Pineapple Cubes in comfy berets. My mum always told me to ‘scrub up’ but these people seem to believe that to ‘scruff up’ is the new norm.

Apparently, they worship a new Swedish goddess called something like Gertie Glum-Berg who has decreed that that humanity is facing an existential crisis arising from climate change. My own understanding of existentialism was that humans define their own meaning in life, making rational decisions, regardless of outside pressure. Presumably, that is why one of their unkempt disciples came in (backwards, via a hedge?) with a less-than-nuclear family (begat at Greenham Common I suspect) and asked us, without even a hint of irony, if we had a spare plastic jar in which she could house her caterpillar.

Instead of looking upwards and feeling the warmth of the sunshine on their perfectly coiffured heads, these people seemed determined to stare at their leather sandals or brogues, resolutely refusing to engage with any other humans (who did exist, honest). A silent protest can, unfortunately, very quickly look just a bit smug. One sharp-dressed young warrior took the rational – and indisputably brave - decision to just glare at me through the shop window, for pretty much the whole morning, through his expensive plastic sunglasses.

It started to rain later and so, committed to lunch dates as they were, the protest group dissolved like so many gingerbread men. One of their number did then come into the shop but he was from a splinter movement, following a different Scandinavian deity called Halva, from Finland. They have been making soft liquorice since 1931 and, despite these changing elements, we have plenty of boxes of plain and salt ‘licorice’ in stock.

Please do not misunderstand me: we operate a near zero waste policy in our little shop and continue to try to cut plastic to a minimum; I deplore any kind of pollution (especially of minds) and heartily applaud the harnessing of natural energy resources. I also respect the right of everyone to have and to express their different views - we debate the issues of the day with our lovely customers regularly in our shop, over copious amounts of tea, and sometimes coffee too.

I wore a CND badge throughout my time at university (my favourite/only jumper disintegrated long before the badge did) and banned my mum from buying grapes from the Cape for years, but I never looked down my nose at other people and I still don’t.

I may not be worth very much these days – but neither am I insufferably worthy.

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23/7/2020 0 Comments

Masks, Zorro and the nonsensical wars of independents

Michelle had just sold a pick n’ mix jar to a lady this afternoon (who actually came in for toffees) when she got into a conversation about masks. The lady - like so many of our customers this week - was concerned about the timing of the government’s latest instruction on the wearing of masks in shops like ours.

“Why have they backtracked on their earlier advice, and why did they decide a few weeks ago that masks would be necessary, but not for another three weeks? What do they know, that we don’t?” she exclaimed, “It’s nonsense, and I blame Nicola Sturgeon.”

Now, in an era of mixed bonbons I have to say that there were more than just the two questions in her maiden speech.

I think the government has backtracked because the road ahead is a bit too scary: climbing ladders is OK if you have a head for heights - but sliding down jelly snakes – what a great ride!

I think the timing is due to something I learned from a senior civil servant this week: ‘Proper Planning Prevents Poor Processes.’ To be honest, the man was a bit of a P**** but he had a nice red, silk handkerchief with a taxpayers’ coat of arms on it.

In terms of what the government know that the rest of us don’t, I would just point to a jar of chewing nuts.

Nicola Sturgeon does what Nicola Sturgeon always does: talk in sweet, slightly patronising tones, about why Scottish independence - masquerading as a panacea for all ills - could easily be achieved if only Maynards Bassetts would put the liquorice back into Midget Gems.

After a debate worthy of Question Time we put a note out on Facebook and Twitter to try and reassure customers that Friday is indeed M-Day but that for anyone who would prefer not to wear a mask or come into the actual shop, we will happily come to the door and serve them on the pavement.

That doesn’t mean they will have to kneel down and pick up Gummy Bears from the gutter – there will still be bags – but people just need to wave to attract our attention!

One such gentleman has already done so. We heard him galloping up Fish Street before tying up his horse outside The Farriers. Tall and dark, with an interesting moustache and flashy sword, he stood just inside the door and announced:

“My name is Don Diego de la Vega. I have been fighting in the Gloucestershire wars of independence down south, and seek my long-lost daughter, Elena. Have you seen her?”

Michelle spent a quick three hours going through her pictures on iCloud before shaking her head sadly.

“Not to worry,” our nobleman declared in a brave, very grown-up way. “I saw the tweet and thought I’d pop over but, before I put my mask back on, could I perhaps buy some Milk Duds?”

Here was a man who wasn’t afraid to wear a mask, but also recognised that eating sweets can be difficult if you don’t sometimes make exceptions.

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16/7/2020 0 Comments

Most people visiting our little shop tend to come through the door quite quickly, smiling, and eager to enjoy their childhood to the full – or loving the opportunity to re-live a small but cherished part of it.

Others leave more quickly than they arrive. Occasionally, because they have tried our Black Death or Red Death sour boiled sweets and need air, water… solitude. We have a fine range of other Mega Sours, but these are the plague de resistance.

Adults might walk out on account of their children misbehaving, or, more often, because they are shocked and affronted that we haven’t got their personal favourites in stock. We try to explain that not all sweet factories are in full production yet; that some of the chocolate elves are working especially hard in very hot conditions (never good) to deliver our handmade chocolate bars to us, or that we have never stocked particular sweets regardless of the increasingly long-winded descriptions they give us, as though words will become wishes that magically come true. It’s harder than a Black Bullet mint to disappoint people, but sometimes you just have to suck it up.

Unfortunately, there often follows a melodramatic and impassioned speech of how the customer was certain we would have it, that, no, nothing else could possibly do, and did they mention that we had completely ruined their day? I imagine these little dramas will continue and we may sell tickets. We might even sell sweets during the interval as well.

One familiar young mother (that is to say, I recognised her, not that she gets any closer than the counter) and her son missed the door altogether, earlier in the week. They raced down the High Street together, though both simultaneously turned their eyes to the right as they passed the American candy selection in our shop window, rather like North Korean soldiers on parade seemingly acknowledging their leader but really looking across the border to the little treasures on offer in the south.

Thankfully, Mum did reappear with her little boy who was clearly out of breath and in need of sanctuary. He found it in our Pick n’ Mix selection, during which Mum told us that she had promised him: ‘If you can run as far as the Elgar Statue, we’ll go to the sweet shop.’ Apparently, he especially likes our shop because he likes order and cleanliness. I tried to embrace the pomp of this circumstance and varied the names of each jelly sweet in honour of his small victory. However, he just saw me as the enigma he already knew me to be and stuck with his own composition.

We’re a little bit concerned about face masks. Michelle has made me a wonderful, bespoke mask out of an old Leeds United bedspread (how I clung to it when she misguidedly tried to throw it out!) and she has one featuring bunnies; not chocolate bunnies as that would be a bit self-defeating. We want everyone to feel safe in the shop and will, of course, do whatever it takes to defeat the virus, but I suffer a bit from claustrophobia and Michelle has asthma, so we will just have to see how it goes.

A more immediate issue is that, since adopting Deaf Direct as our local charity in the first year of trading in Worcester, we have built up a great customer base amongst those with hearing difficulties, who do rely on lip reading a lot of the time. Rest assured, if they can find the way to our door, we shall do everything we can to ensure that they leave us with smiles on their faces … and not too quickly.

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9/7/2020 1 Comment

Pigs' Mugs and other sweet animals

We have sold a lot of Sweet Peanuts this week. I’m not convinced that people aren’t feeding wire through them and hanging them up for the birds. At least there’s no need to pierce actual nuts in the middle of these sweets anymore. The Health & Safety police have deemed that they might present a hazard to those with nut allergies. Clearly, those of our customers who can work this out for themselves present a danger to society and may be sentenced to seven years of online risk assessments.

Michelle has really brought the bacon in this week with the introduction of Pigs’ Mugs to the Pick n’ Mix selection. They join our happy menagerie of snakes, white mice, and blue dolphins that swam in during the spring floods. I love it when parents bring their children in, ostensibly to introduce them to our choice of 80 pots of sweets; they then proceed to make helpful ‘suggestions’ as to the best in class, usually knowing the correct names of each, and sometimes the Latin names too.

One such mum attempted this strategy earlier in the week, only to fail rather miserably. Her daughter who must have been all of three year’s old, armed with little blonde pigtails and at least five front teeth, grinned throughout her brother’s and sister’s efforts before announcing confidently, in a long sentence punctuated with well-deserved gasps for breath: “I’m not spending my pocket money today because I’m going to save it all up and, when I’m a teenager, I’m going to buy a car and then I’m going to drive it to this sweetie shop and buy some sweets and fill my car up with them!”

When she’s older she’ll probably read JK Rowling’s books, or watch the film adaptations, or maybe even enjoy some kind of virtual magic experience that will take the place of shopping in a little sweet shop; but we’ll have Harry Potter Chocolate Frogs, Bertie Botts and Jelly Slugs to help with her journey through life.

The pigs might not be flying yet but many of the old favourites continue to do so – Barley Sugars, Chocolate Limes and Walkers’ Toffees have all refused to stay on the shelves for long this week. For those walkers who are less fond of toffees, Kendal Mint Cake is also as popular as ever, though the brown or white sugar choice can throw even the most ardent hiker into a state of panic akin to reading a map upside down, in a tent in the dark…

We tend to rely on the car’s Sat Nav to get around – even though it often kicks in later than traffic lights or roundabouts resulting in us always seeming to be in the wrong lane. However, we’ll be continuing to deliver sweets, gifts and hampers to our lovely customers around Worcester so, if you’d rather not face the jungle yet, do get in touch and watch us drive right past your doorstep until that ever so helpful voice from the dashboard politely suggests we make a u turn!

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2/7/2020 0 Comments

Turtles, mermaids and happy memories of Rupert

I was having a discussion with the Terrific Turtles this morning, not about anything in particular – the unappreciated trauma of being caught and left in a pot while jelly sweets all around them are being picked; the obvious need for green alternatives in a new age pick n’ mix selection, and the price of fish. However, one issue did keep leaping up: they want customers to call them ‘turtles.’ They don’t mind being called ‘those greeny things,’ or even ‘the green and yellow reptiles’ but most definitely not frogs or toads. Could everyone please make a note.

I have known a lot of toads in my life, but not that many frogs. My only real encounter with frogs was when my father read Rupert Bear stories to me as a young child. They always seemed to gather in multi-coloured crowds on rocks in sandy bays and imparted comforting words of wisdom just before sunset. I think there was a subliminal message in there, somewhere, about falling asleep, peacefully. A slab of Guinness Dark Chocolate tends to do the trick for me these days, I find.

There was always a mermaid in those stories, wasn’t there? In our pick n’ mix town – laid out along a regular grid pattern (a bit like Milton Keynes) - they live next door to the turtles, one down from the strawberry pencil bites and two across from the sour dummies (each of whom would like to be known as Benny). Our mermaids have a bubble-gum flavour, but I don’t recall too many of them blowing bubbles at Rupert or Bill. These days they are vegan – as are so many of the sweets in our shop – although one mermaid did assure me that she was also a confirmed pescatarian. It wasn’t a very long tale, that one …

We are of course looking forward to Saturday’s Fourth of July celebrations. It’s the day when independents like us thank our lucky (blue raspberry/chocolate/jelly) stars that we are no longer part of a country ruled from afar by a mentally unstable figurehead.

The safety of our lovely customers is paramount in this uncertain time; that said, Michelle has been making ‘sweet bombs’ and placing them somewhat furtively around the shop. Apparently, they are more likely to fizz and crackle – like sparklers – than explode in your mouth. You need Flying Saucers for that. I still remember searching in Lucky Bags for those special spaceship shapes (not easy to say after a few gulps of Tango).

I’d like to thank all those who have used our sanitiser gel when entering the shop. Most prefer to use it on their hands, although I did notice one little lad smearing it across his knees, smiling angelically as he began to pray that his mum had bought her purse with her.

One ‘does my reflection in this window really do me justice?’ middle-aged lady, clad in a tight-fitting white trouser suit, accessorised with fake leopard skin belt, displayed a far lesser degree of humility, tottering past on her heels before reaching over the doorstep and into the shop, squirting her hands, rubbing them gleefully and departing with her nose in the air. I’m happy to provide a public service, of course, but I can also smell rats. Perhaps that was why she was so inclined to decline my invitation to look me in the eye?

Oh well, I’m off to Nutwood with Rupert and his pals once more. I can’t think of a much happier ending to this or any other day.

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Author

I am a writer and historian with a passion for sweets and football (not necessarily in that order!). I write fiction and non-fiction and, after working in the media for over 30 years, now run a sweet shop with my wife, Michelle, trading as Mr Simms Worcester. I also write about the history of sweets in a series of blog posts: 'A Funny Thing Happened on the way to the Sweet Shop.'

Our shop is situated on the corner of Worcester's High Street and Fish Street - hence the title of this blog. I will be writing a weekly piece on thoughts and developments both in the world of sweets, the High Street and Worcestershire in general. All thoughts are my own.

YOUR CART

A view from the corner shop

A change in the environment

Masks, Zorro and the nonsensical wars of independents

Crossing the sweet threshold

Pigs' Mugs and other sweet animals

Turtles, mermaids and happy memories of Rupert

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