Farewell to Wilko

Wilko has gone. Its last day of trading anywhere in the country was yesterday. I made a point of driving to Horsham, where one of the remaining shops still open could be visited. Not to buy anything, of course, although it did cross my mind to purchase a souvenir article, if there was something left that I wanted. No, my purpose was to take pictures as a salute to the passing of yet another High Street stalwart that had seemed to be a permanent fixture.

After the first news broke back in early August that Wilko was in dire trouble, I'd rushed over to Burgess Hill for a couple of shots:

But the store seemed to be trading normally. It had a great central position in the middle of Burgess Hill shopping centre, with W H Smith, Boots and Waitrose very close by, and Greggs and Costa adjacent. The impression was that each of these stores drew in a variety of local people who would find it very convenient indeed to pop into Wilko. At one time the shopping centre included Iceland and Lidl, but they had both relocated to new premises - not that they had ever been direct competition. Nor was there a Poundland or B&M or Range lurking around the corner, ready to take custom away. 

So back in August you would have discounted the news that Wilko's business had become unviable. Maybe, as some town-centre stores had already done - Marks & Spencer and John Lewis being prominent big-name examples - Wilko would rescue itself by closing its more marginally-profitable shops, leaving the best (Burgess Hill being an example) open and serving the locality as they had done for a generation past.

But it was not to be. I was in Cornwall in mid-September, and found the Wilko in Truro, Cornwall's busiest and best shopping town, on the verge of shutting with only two trading days left. It started to hit me that Wilko really was going to vanish.

There wasn't much left on the shelves now. But I was struck how welcoming the store still seemed. It was clean and tidy and brightly lit, not sombre and half-derelict. Quite a contrast from - say - the closing of Debenhams in Taunton back in April 2021, when empty shelves and display furniture were untidily crammed together and roped off, and the restaurant, where I had once had a pleasant lunch, looking forlorn. It was depressing.

The only part of Debenhams still partying was the space where naked dummies had been stashed. They were having one final tipsy blast before finding new careers.

Back to Wilko's better-managed and more cheerful swansong. The store had been a presence in most towns of any size, catering for those looking for nice household goods at very reasonable prices. So there was certainly one in Canterbury in Kent, where I had an opportunity of taking end-of-an-era pictures only last week. This visit was a touch more poignant, as there was a board on which customers had been able to write farewell messages and remarks. Wilko had been a grassroots local institution, with a definite ethos. I for one felt that its demise would hit many people much harder than losing (say) an M&S. 

Canterbury was very much a student city. I could well imagine that the local Wilko was a welcome if not essential one-stop source of inexpensive domestic essentials for the university population. But also for anyone struggling on a low income.

And so to Horsham yesterday, and the final death-throe of a once-mighty nationwide chain of stores. I remember when the Horsham Wilko was opened. Like many, it was on two levels, but it was built around a feature lift, as well as having escalators and stairs. If it had a problem, it was that it was situated at one end of the sprawling Swan Walk shopping centre, and not at its hub. But a popular store, nevertheless.

Gosh, Pick & Mix. Horribly reminiscent of long-gone Woolworths! And now it was Wilko's turn.

Once again, everything left well-lit and clean, as if prepared for restocking. It was one of the reasons why a cheerful air prevailed, instead of despair and gloom. (Although no doubt the staff were apprehensive for their future, and inwardly sad and perplexed that Wilko had stumbled and fallen)

Wilko had proper modern self-service checkouts, as well as traditional ones. It was hard to see exactly why failure had come, considering that the stores were airy and attractive places, with goods you'd want to buy. I felt it was such a shame.

I thought of many past visits to Wilko stores for one reason or another, in towns as dissimilar as Port Talbot and Colchester. M--- had liked Wilko (or Wilkinson, as it was then) and I wondered how she felt about all this. I was thoughtful as I took my pictures. Nobody stopped me, by the way. Perhaps they felt it was fitting that someone made a record of what a Wilko store had looked like, even one with near-empty shelves. 

Leaving through the upper-level entrance, there were people with their phones out, taking souvenir selfies in a celebratory way. So I didn't look odd, getting my own shots, smiling as I did so - although generally speaking it does look strange when anyone includes a shop in their picture. (Perhaps people think commercial premises are 'un-photographic' and anyone taking pictures must have a dark motive)

I need to confess that I never bought much from Wilko. My purchases over the years were confined to kitchen items, plastic storage boxes, extension cables and odd things like ant-killer. I suppose I went into the Burgess Hill Wilko once every two months for something. Certainly not daily, or even weekly. If there had been a lot of people like me, then Wilko would never have generated much turnover! I wasn't the typical customer. 

Wilko had been around long enough to become part of the ordinary scene, and perhaps for that reason taken for granted. Rather like Woolworths had been. It was always a bright and pleasant place to shop, and there was never any sense that it was cheap and downmarket, as many cut-price shops can be. It offered value for money, not shoddiness. The choice was adequate, the quality was fine, and the prices were always very competitive. Wilko had a clear identity, was handy, and it stocked a wide range of things. But it wasn't a loud and aggressive retailer. And on today's High Street, extra effort is needed. You have to keep reinventing, or at least re-branding, yourself, regularly refreshing your public face. Newer and brasher retailers focussed solely on low prices, rather than serving a community, had no problem taking trade away. 

None of this explains why nowadays I seem so interested in photographing the last days of this or that well-known shop. I didn't do it much before 2000, even though a long list of shops had bit the dust by then. By 2010, with online shopping taking off, even more had died, and yet I hadn't started shooting the passing of well-known stores as I do now. 

In 2023 the average large town centre can boast only a Marks & Spencer as its anchor store - if lucky. Most chains of department stores have shut. Worthing, for instance, once had a Debenhams and a Beales: both gone. Bournemouth now has no department store - I don't rate the revived Bobby's (the original Bobby's became Debenhams, which died roughly when Beales did) as a proper department store. Soon only John Lewis will be left, but only in locations here and there. 

Smaller towns are often more fortunate than cities, supporting a well-loved locally-owned department store such as Goulds in Dorchester, Fields in Sidmouth, Banbury's in Barnstaple, and Wroes in Bude. (Is this solely a West Country thing?) But the impact of business rates and other costs could do for them too. I would be very sad at that. Wroes and Fields especially.

I think I can look back to different High Streets, full of shops like the British Home Stores, C&A, Littlewoods, Dolcis, Country Casuals and Timothy Whites. The shake-out has been long and relentless, and is not over yet. I am not stuck in the past, but having experienced the past I can take a longer view than many. Are town centres going to die? Yes. It's no good supposing that a host of coffee shops, pizza outlets, gyms and hairdressers will draw people in like a wide range of decent retail shops used to do. In particular, difficult and outrageously expensive parking will kill off trade - I'm looking at you, Brighton.

Car decisions

My faithful and hard-working car, Fiona, made for me to my own chosen specification in 2010, has now covered 194,000 miles. It looks as if she will hit 200,000 miles sometime in February or March next year. That's a lot of mileage; but she is a top-of-the range diesel Volvo XC60 with five cylinders and all-wheel drive, built strongly and well, powerful, and inherently likely to soldier on to 300,000 miles and beyond. It's in her DNA. 

But like any car, this all depends on careful driving and regular maintenance, and a bit of love. She has always had all three. That said, the regular maintenance part comes at a cost. She has never been cheap to run. And the older she gets, the more will wear out. I don't expect any sudden breakdowns that will leave me stranded. No, it will be a long series of component replacements, each one having lasted for a very impressive number of miles, but inevitably reaching the point where failure looms. The trick is to recognise the signs, and get the item fixed at the right moment, not too soon and not too late. Money is a big consideration; but so is safety, peace of mind, and sheer convenience. I must be able go on one of my extended and long-range caravan touring holidays without any fear that something will go wrong. Or when at home, without useful bus services to fall back on, I need to stay mobile for shopping and socialising.  

As was intended, Fiona has met my personal needs perfectly. So it was upsetting to think that avoidable global warming and the legislation to counter it would lead to a premature severance of our acquaintance. Not so long ago, I was making plans to switch to an all-electric car in 2025 or 2026. The savings I was making to that end had to be spent instead on essential house, car and caravan repairs, forcing me to rethink what to do. Now the government has extended the window for buying and using a petrol or diesel car. This suits me personally, even though I think it's bad for the government's green credibility, and bad for the planet. I don't think my conscience will let me drive Fiona around beyond 2030, but I am at least relieved that Fiona has had a reprieve. 

It's only 2023: there are seven years ahead in which to formulate a realistic car replacement strategy. I can reasonably expect that during those seven years the electrical technology will improve, more charging infrastructure will be put in place, and costs will come down. I will be able to build up my savings again, and have the money ready for a very fat deposit on whatever models are available in 2030. And let's face it: by 2030 I will be seventy-eight. I dare say I'll still be criss-crossing the country with my caravan in tow, but the hops between caravan sites will be less. Two hundred miles is normally the most I like to drive in one day. By 2030 the kind of electric car I have in mind should be able to tow a caravan that distance, and allow me to unhitch and find a topping-up charge-point before bedtime. At home, of course, I'd have installed my own charging point.

Will Fiona last another seven years, until I change to a future-generation electric car? I don't see why not. She's in a great state body-wise; her engine is still sweet; only her lesser components will use my purse as a punchbag. Even so, I know that I will face endless expenses, some major, some minor, but each one needing a positive decision to proceed if I want to keep Fiona on the road. 

Some would advise buying a new or second-hand replacement car instead. But unless I purchase a commercial vehicle, or something like a Ford Ranger, I can't buy a new diesel-engined chariot, and a diesel I must have for caravanning, to give me not only pulling-power but decent range. In any case, the current price of any new or newish car is presently well beyond my reach. So the stick-with-Fiona plan is really the only viable one for now. 

Of course, if I gave up caravanning, and turned to hotels for accommodation, I could buy a smaller car that would still let me journey about. But I wouldn't be able to afford nearly so many holidays.

Fingers crossed that Fiona's bits and pieces wear out slower than I expect! But I can't see myself driving less in the next seven years. Indeed, I'll want to get around and see as many places as possible while I'm still physically able to do so. I'm not yet ready to stay at home and nod off.

The Full English

The last month has been devoid of posts. No, I haven't lost my enthusiasm for blogging. It's simply that I was away for three and a half weeks in Dorset, Cornwall and Devon, and - as usual - took a lot of photographs, especially as the weather was mostly good and I went to several new places. I gave processing those pictures total priority, which meant no opportunities whatever for blogging. 

But I'm back home now. It's time I got my typing fingers working again! 

This post is about the Full English Breakfast, that town centre café standby and proud main offering, usually available for lunch as well as breakfast, and sometimes all day. It generally consists of these food items: bacon, sausages, fried eggs, baked beans, hash browns, tomatoes, and either red or brown sauce. There can be choices, such as fried bread instead of hash browns; poached or scrambled egg instead of fried. Sometimes there might be black pudding and other things. Always with bread and butter or toast and butter, and often with a choice of which type of bread. And yes, the essential pot of tea or big mug of coffee to wash it down with!

Nobody has to go the whole hog and have the entire Full English. You can have slimline versions. It's easy to trim the ingredients to only those that are Slimming World compliant. Bacon, eggs, baked beans, tomatoes, red or brown sauce, tea and coffee are all no-syn or small-syn choices, and if that's all you consume, then it's a healthy meal. But you know, sometimes only the real thing will do. That's especially true if you're on a long day out and prone to running out of get-up-and-go. So once in a while, usually when on holiday, I treat myself to a Full English.

Am I greedy? Not ladylike? A piggy? Well, I'd say no: while I frequently breakfast or lunch on bacon and eggs and baked beans at home, it's not often that I chomp into a sausage cooked in my own kitchen, and I never cook up and devour fried bread, hash browns, or black pudding. And there's no bread or butter in the house. So ordering such things at a café is an uncommon pleasure, one to be savoured, a notable holiday moment.  

One of the nice things about a Full English is that is looks colourful and appetising - or at least that's generally true at the places I go to. There may be places that believe in serving up overcooked rubbish dripping with fat, but I don't use them. When home in Sussex, I have a couple of favourites. In seaside Littlehampton, there's the Dinky Doo Diner. Here's what I tucked into there in February 2022:

And in June 2023 this was my choice:

No Michelin stars for presentation, but it was tasty. Recommended.

In posh and arty Ditchling - long the home of Vera Lynn - there's The Nutmeg Tree, a decidedly upmarket cake, coffee, and light meal establishment that I particularly like. Back in January 2023 I dropped in for breakfast after a doctor's surgery appointment, and had this:

As you can see, nice china and doilies come with the meal. Behind me was a log fire. Fabulous.

When holidaying in the West Country, I like to eat at a great café I discovered in 2020, The Fat Frog in Liskeard in East Cornwall, reachable from North Devon. This is a real 'town hub' place, with a good street view. This is what impressed me in September 2020:

I returned in September 2021:

And gave The Fat Frog a third go in July 2022:

So far none of these breakfasts were the Full English, though close to it. I felt that a pile-it-all-on-the-plate Full English was strictly a tradesmen-only affair. As in this humorous card:

That July 2022 visit to The Fat Frog ended embarrassingly. I had a window table with a fascinating street view. And the café people were lively too. 

Distracted, I forgot that I hadn't settled up, and walked out without paying. They had to run after me. All was well eventually, but I still cringe at the experience. I posted about it (see The prisoner Melford will hear the verdict of the Jury on 3rd August 2022) after narrowly escaping transportation to Australia for life. However, I'll have to go back and show my face again. And this time have a Full English (paying up front). 

Another place I like, this time in North Devon at Hartland, is Coffee on the Square, which I discovered in September 2020. This is what I had then:

And these were my meals in April 2022 and April 2023:

And in September 2023:

A large party of fifteen (seated in a back room) ordered just before me, and I had to wait a bit - hence not only coffee, but a pot of tea as as well. But I had a chance to study my fellow-customers, and see what was happening in the square outside.

Some of those meals may well have been the Full English, genteel non-piggy versions anyway. But I thought I was risking my reputation ordering 'The Governor's' at another favourite eatery, the Jailhouse Café at the Verne Prison on the Isle of Portland. This is what I got on my last visit there in July 2022:

That was a lot to get through. I managed it, of course. Was it the champion Full English? I thought it was until I found The Coffee Bean at Helston, in Cornwall, last month. The place seemed to be something of a local institution. 

I was particularly peckish. I went for it. 'A Full English, please,' I exclaimed to the waitress. She staggered, and clutched at the table for support. Women stifled horrified screams. Men goggled, gasped and choked. Dogs fainted. Thunder rolled outside. But I insisted.

When it came, I almost regretted my rashness. It was humongous. 

Three rashers of bacon. Three sausages. And the rest. Everyone must have thought me gross. Or mad. No ordinary human being could eat this. But then, the Melfords are not ordinary human beings. And as one of them, I had to fly the flag and eat it all, or die. It was a matter of honour.

I ate it all and didn't die. In fact, thus fortified, I was game for a drive to The Lizard - not Lizard Point, but the little villages and coves such as Cadgwith, Poltesco and Portholland, and after that Gillan Creek and St Anthony-in-Meneage. 

And that's the thing: you're OK if you eat a Full English with a purpose in mind that involves a little exercise. It doesn't harm you then. You need the calories. I don't eat like this very often, even on holiday when I'm more active than I can be at home. 

It's called the Full English. But do they have a Scottish equivalent? The Full Scottish, so to speak? When I had a night on Orkney in September 2022 I found out. I ordered breakfast at the place I was staying at - it was The Inn Guest House at St Mary's, right on the shore of Scapa Flow - and got this:

Hmm. It certainly resembled a Full English that you could get south of the Border. But what was that meat-like square? It was new to me. I asked. It was called Lorne. The lady was amazed that I'd never heard of it. I tried it. It was tasty enough, and I polished it off, as I had a very full day ahead before driving Fiona to the ferry terminal at Stromness, ready for the voyage back to Scrabster. Later in my Scottish holiday, when at Forfar, I bought a packet of Lorne from the local Tesco supermarket:

Lorne was clearly a Scottish breakfast speciality. I've never seen it on sale in England. 

So: I've owned up to enjoying not only English Breakfasts, but an occasional Full English. I'm not abashed. I think I qualify as a person who gets out and around and sometimes needs a calorie-laden start to the long day ahead.