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Back to School WH Smiths shop! At least some traditions remain from the 20th Century, but how long can that former jewel of the High Street survive? Back in the seventies WH Smiths was confident of its status as the go to stationers and book seller - there would be huge racks of singles to peruse and shop lift (maybe you had to take the sleeve up to get the record) and it was a respectable place. I would spend my book tokens there. Usually on Peanuts books, much to my dad's chagrin. But you were wrong dad. Comedy was going to be my life. I was going to make jokes, not learn to talk to animals like Doctor Doolittle or team up with a rival group in a boat like the Swallows and Amazons or go through a wardrobe and eat Turkish delight with a child abuser and a lion. Snoopy would be my saviour.
Nowadays Smiths is gaudier: pushing pencil cases and buckets of tat at the front, not quite sure of what it is any more, items located in more than one place, really pushing for the impulse buys and the smell of desperation is stronger than the smell of erasers. Maybe there's a Post Office at the back. Two once great institutions forced to share space due to declining fortunes and dragging each other's reputations down, like two drowning people clinging to one another as they head for a waterfall. Perhaps there is a fruitless attempt to compete with Amazon, by trying to persuade people to put down £3 in advance for the new Peter Kay book and then pay the rest when you pick it up. You know, really convenient ways to buy books at full price, involving only two transactions and two trips to the shopping centre. Ian Amazon must be quaking in his fucking boots (and maybe in fucking Boots as well, because they seem to be doing an OK job at remaining relevant).
But a residual loyalty to the shop of old and to the life's work of William Henry Smith. In actual fact he set up the shop in 1792 and was dead within months so he basically did fuck all and is lucky to still have his name on this thing, the fucking chancer. I am glad his vision has ended up with 3 for 2 Spiderman stationery and a free bottle of water with every Telegraph and an unappealing offer to get Peter Kay's next self-unaware tome - though to be fair to WH, he lost his inheritance because he married a servant girl, so at least he cared more for love than money and celebrity autobiographies. It was his wife Anna who did all the work, but her son and his son were also WH Smiths, so I suppose it was inevitable.
We did much to keep WH Smiths going - I was later to have to put individual name tags on all of Ernie's new pencils and Pritts and rulers and it took me ages. Phoebe also got some things and was very excited to see the display of David Walliams books, buying one immediately and telling us which ones she wanted next. I don't like the idea of giving him money or of my own sexcrement thinking that Walliams is funnier than me (however true that might be), but at least she isn't buying Stewart Lee's stuff. For now. Oh God, the day when she comes home to tell me that that is what true comedy is all about is as inevitable as the sunrise. I don't think Walliams or Lee have any worries about their kids becoming enamoured with me though, which is a relief for them and their egos. My battered ego can take it. I know my place. I am very much the WH Smiths of comedy, without shagging any of my servants or any of the early years of success and prosperity. I've even opened a Post Office at the back of my podcast.
Anyway I was as disapproving of her book choices as my father was of mine. Why not buy a nice Snoopy compendium? It was good enough for me and there was at least one recognisable joke every 300 cartoons. She'll see how wrong she was in the future. History will be Walliams' judge (or maybe just a judge).
Then off to buy kids' pants and socks (from John Lewis though, not from M and S like I would have done back in the day - I'm all for nostalgia, but I have to also prove my superiority to my own parents) and then Pizza Express for lunch, where the Bosco salad managed to keep me on track for my Zoe score (though it got mildly damaged later cos I had half a glass of homemade lemonade that my daughter had made - come on Zoe, have a fucking heart). The summer holidays have whizzed by, but there has been a lot packed in there for the kids, so I guess it's a success. I am looking forward to having a rest once they're back at school tomorrow. As long as the roof doesn't fall in on them. What a time to be alive.
