After following a line of 25,672 cones and according to the over zealous placing of all the road signs around this small hole I was congratulated that I have 'Way Control' with my driving skills by the middle sign which I was pleased to see rather than no control and end up ploughing through and ending up in the ditch upside down with loose change boinging off my head and my feet touching my nose. Judging by the arrows I take it the also want me to keep right.
Before I go on look at this snapshot from my blog writing software. Spellcheckers are picking up such atrocious language skills, I mean did I really want to say 'end ump ploughing' as I write the blog. Ump as far as I can find doesn't exist, silly spellchecker what a flumper. You nearly got what a silly motor flumper you winker it's all a load of bollards.
Anyway what was I doing, ah, yes, being told I had way control. We were off to market or to be more precise off to Bakewell on market day, a great day to go but we forgot it was also the cattle market day so it was heaving with animals and livestock before we even got there. Lots of mooing and oinking later, we stopped doing that when we realised we were getting funny looks, we made our way into Bakewell.
It did look very fetching though in the October sun, 1st October, who'd have thought it and the market was great everything you want, didn't want but bought anyway and didn't even think off but bought two just incase you never get a chance again. Shoe laces, how useful are those? I'm now the proud owner of two yellow ones three feet in length, now all I have to do is find the shoes to match. Although thinking about it I may have made a rash decision unless I find a stall selling shoes for clowns and have to chalk it down to experience just like the home barber kit. I'm still lucky to have the full use of both my ears after that I can tell you. Cut your own hair like a barber they said, it'll be fun.
The real reason I'm writing this drivel is an excellent shop I found, some kind of emporium run by a most excellent gentleman with a very quirky taste in clothing. He was seemingly dressed in an eclectic mix of smart elegant wear crossed with a scarecrow, a mish mash of differing styles with loops of heavy cotton portruding at angles from various parts of the suit like the whole thing had been hastily sewn together but with great skill too. Now I say this with the greatest affection, he really did look great and suited the business or the business suited him, either way it was all very tasteful and a breath of fresh air to see a business to be just that, a business that was based on a personality. It was like walking around what you would imagine his house to be like and I like that, it gives a real sense of being.
Then he did something really great, he reached behind the counter and played his music, the emphasis again on personal taste at a high volume to lift spirits far and wide. What did he play? Psy and Gangnam Style? No, although it would have suited his style and I'm sure he could have horse rode gangsta style around the shop, instead he played the enchanting Doris Day's Que Sera Sera, his face lifted, his pace quickened and he was lost in his little world, he had found his happy place and was damn well going to keep it that way.
And with one simple act everyone who entered the shop immediately smiled and relaxed, what a great place.
www.petersmithcollective.co.uk Home Of Everything Impossimal
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