Primark

London contains a large number of bustling  town centres - little cities within a sprawling megacity. One of them is Hammersmith and Shirley and I walked there on Saturday afternoon.  Lots of shops and eateries and a couple of theatres too. A tube station and the concrete pillars of the A4 trunk road, carrying travellers into the heart of London from the west. And of course people - lots of them.

It can get chilly in Ian and Sarah's attic room. Normally, I sleep in my birthday suit but because of the chill up there, I wanted to purchase a long-sleeved T-shirt.

No luck in Marks and Spencers so Shirley directed me to "Primark" - a clothing chainstore that I had never entered before though of course I knew the name. Three shop floors of competitively priced clothing - mostly made from cotton. Tons of the stuff. I believe that "Primark" are notorious for marketing cheap, replaceable apparel - often from dubious foreign suppliers.

I found my new light blue XL T-shirt on a pile but it was quite crumpled. As an opportunistic prankster, I took it to a member of staff who was sorting clothes nearby and complained about the crumpling saying, "Excuse me but if I buy this T-shirt do Primark operate an ironing service?"

She mumbled something about the store's steaming facilities until she realised I was just joking and laughed. I think it brightened her day.

At the checkouts there were eight members of staff on duty and fifteen customers in the queue when I first got there. I know because I counted them. And do you know what - right there in the heart of England's capital - I was the only one of the twenty three people present whose physical appearance suggested that I might belong to the white British host community. Everybody else had characteristics that suggested foreign origins from Syria to the Caribbean and from Somalia to Bangladesh or Hong Kong.

London has become an incredible melting pot of cultures which is quite plain to see even though that observation is not applicable to many other towns and cities on this island where the host community remain predominant.

We walked back to Fulham, stopping off at a traditional cafe run by a Portuguese family on Fulham Palace Road - for light meals with hot drinks. I had poached eggs on toast with a latte.

Soon we were back at Ian and Sarah's house to watch England beat France in a Six Nations rugby match. However, Sarah was not there because she was at this big game in person - played at Twickenham in West London.

We got back to Sheffield this evening. It had been good to see them all - especially our grandson Zachary. He continues to develop nicely and I sang:

Zach, Zach don't look back

You might see Santa with his sack

Or a little duck that says "Quack! Quack!"

Just for little Zachary. 

from Yorkshire Pudding https://ift.tt/BAZ4G0N