Lucy Melford: Frozen in Yeovil

I'm still in a farmer's field near Lyme Regis, although in three days' time I move on to North Devon. I haven't seen much sunshine. The forecast better weather hasn't materialised, and it's still soggy underfoot. This inhibits going anywhere. Nevertheless, a couple of days ago I decided to have a longer day out than I've had so far. It was constantly cloudy near the coast: might the skies be clearer, even sunny, inland? It seemed a reasonable notion, so I headed off north-east to Yeovil, about an hour away.

Yeovil is a fair-sized town in south Somerset, but without any special distinction. It isn't even much of a shopping centre. But it was somewhere to go.

As this was a Sunday, there was free parking, always a nice thing. And, truth to tell, it was dry. No rain! What a novelty! But I can't say I found any reason to revise my previous judgement of the place. True enough, it had a scattering of all the usual town centre shops. Boots, W H Smith, Marks and Spencer, Primark? Present and correct. A Waterstones bookshop was there too, a somewhat surprising oasis of culture.

But the Beales department store had of course closed two years back, and its former premises looked shabby and forlorn, doomed despite the big 'For Sale' posters to remain empty for eternity.

Most of the shops in the lower end of the main shopping street were closed, or barely hanging on, as if that section were awaiting total redevelopment.

Halfway up, they were creating a sunken area, an amphitheatre, for street performers, in a bid to liven up the town centre for people with leisure to gawp at buskers, persons dressed up as Darth Vader, and the like. They might hope for actors and ballet dancers, mime artists and skilful jongleurs, but I think in vain. It'll be a white elephant, used only for skateboarding.

Further up still, there was more life - more people even - with nicer shops, though still nothing very special. At the top was a square, and a handful of fine old banking buildings - or perhaps newer ones built to imitate fine old buildings.

And off in a grassy precinct of its own was the imposing parish church, all that seemed to be left of medieval Yeovil. The scene of the magical mid-1970s pre-Christmas visit touched on below.

But I don't think it was open. Two winos sitting by the entrance rather put me off going closer to investigate.

Across from the church, running behind the tatty main shopping street and parallel to it, was a newer shopping development: more pleasing to the eye, and with most of the more interesting shops.

But for the most part, the town's architecture looked post-war, tired, undistinguished, drab, and unexciting. A sprinkling of modern buildings, such as a big new cinema, couldn't alter the general picture of soulless concrete and dingy brick.

Why go there at all, you might ask?

Well, Yeovil is the shining star of an old memory. I drove there from Southampton, not long before Christmas, in the mid-1970s. I'd never been there before. It was bitterly cold, and as I walked up the main shopping street - now mostly shut and poster-defiled shops, but much more attractive then - it began to snow. Up ahead I could hear carol-singing. This drew me on, and I emerged onto the church green, where a large choir were gathered next to a lit-up Christmas Tree, and giving their lusty all as the snow fell. I think some of them were holding lanterns. It was magical.

I wish I could pinpoint the exact date. I was keeping a photograph diary at the time, but there is no reference to taking pictures in Yeovil. So I'm guessing that I made no attempt to capture the scene with a photograph or two. It must have been just too dark for any kind of picture without resorting to flash, and I wouldn't have done that. It would have broken the spell.

I didn't stay long: the snowfall was just too heavy to take chances with. I hurried back to the car and began the journey home without further ado. I recall that the A30 road on the way back to Salisbury was treacherous, but I made it. It was much easier after Salisbury.

So, despite its present humdrum reality almost fifty years later, Yeovil redeems itself with a wonderful old memory that is forever in my mind.

Well, in 2023 all I wanted (or expected to get) was a lunchtime sandwich, and Boots obliged. But I ended up in the HMV shop.

It seems something of a miracle that HMV survives. High Street record shops once abounded. Apart from HMV, there was Virgin, and Our Price, and several others. W H Smith once had a section (or even an entire floor) for records too. All these shops were mostly in prime positions in the main shopping street, or in a shopping centre. Now only HMV can be found there. Niche shops selling vinyl are still around, but located elsewhere, on the edge of the town centre and in other odd corners.

Well, what could HMV offer me? I didn't want music, but now that I'd set up a 'dedicated Movie Theatre' in my study at home, I could be tempted to buy the odd box set. I went in.

Hmm! It looked good for buying a DVD - although half of the videos on display would of course be Blu-Ray. It soon dawned on me that nowadays HMV mostly sells DVDs and Blu-Rays, presumably for the fat and flabby sofa generation, and anybody else who prefers to binge on favourite films and TV shows of the past, rather than endure current offerings. The key thing is that you can own something physical, and avoid streaming subscriptions. Also, if you are watching where the internet is weak or non-existent - as you might if moored in a canal boat -popping a DVD or Blu-Ray into your playing device may be the only entertainment solution possible. Well, the demand clearly remains strong, and sufficiently large for HMV to thrive on.

One could still purchase music - I noticed some vinyl LPs - but their main trade was in videos; and mostly at prices that you wouldn't hesitate too much over. I decided to spend £30 or so.

What did I get?

I spotted a Jason Bourne film - the fourth of the series, Jason Bourne, which I didn't have in my collection at home - and picked it up without a thought. £5.99. A no-brainer. Matt Damon was older in it, quite a long way on from the confused youthful person without a memory in the first film, but it was still a great action movie.

Ah, a box set of Inspector Morse, my favourite 1980s TV detective.

But HMV wanted £34.99 for it. Too much for this occasion. Maybe later in the year. But there was another box set that leapt into my hand, and only £19.99. All the episodes of that classic 1990s space romp, Red Dwarf.

I don't normally like watching comedy, but this was a show that did make me laugh. Another one for the Melford Movie Multiplex. I can't wait to see the episode in which Lister kisses what he thinks is a beautiful, sexy girl, when in reality it's a grotesque and repulsive giant house fly with telepathic powers. And of course the one in which Kryten, the hygiene-obsessed sanitation mechanoid, demonstrates his 'groinal attachment' for hoovering. Definitely worth an investment.

What else? Well, I happened on the Disney display.

Anything there for me? I already had Puss in Boots, and had greatly enjoyed watching it. Some of this stuff would however make me cringe. And then I saw this.

Frozen. Hmm. I'd averted my gaze from this, ever since its 2013 release. Ten years after, should I give it a go? Would it leave me cold and unmoved? I dared myself. Surely I'd like Elsa and her sister Anna? I'd certainly liked Exit Eden's exciting version of what I took to be the title song, with its fabulous singing and frenzied guitar work.