it doesn’t seem right charging them, does it, not when it’s for charity? And we’ve got so much stuff just sitting upstairs.’
‘Well that’s as may be, but I hope you know what you’re doing, because they’ll all be bringing in all sorts now, stuff they’ve had in their cupboards for years.’
‘We can always throw it out if it’s too manky.’
She sniffs; I think she’s trying to decide if manky is a rude word.
‘Have you got any more ideas, any more things you want to change? Only I’d quite like to know beforehand, and that way I can help you avoid making too many mistakes. Because it’s notas simple as it seems sometimes, you know. When you’ve been doing it for as long as I have.’
‘Nothing major, moving things around a little bit, and putting the newer stock in the front, and new window dispalys. I’d like to start a group, invite people in for a glass of wine – people are starting them all over the place, and they’re really popular. Not just in wool shops, people meet in pubs and cafés, too. They call them Stitch and Bitch groups.’
‘I’m not sure that sounds very nice; I don’t think our ladies would like anything like that. Couldn’t you call it something nicer?’
‘Yes, but that’s the whole point, Elsie. We need to attract new ladies – I mean women – into the shop.’
‘I know, what about Knit and Natter? That’s much nicer.’
‘It doesn’t sound so much fun, though, does it?’
‘Would you want me to work on any of these evenings, because I do have to get Jeffrey’s supper, and what with my Martin being home too, and in at all hours with his work, I sometimes end up cooking twice of an evening. And he can be quite a fussy eater, you know. It’s all salads and sandwiches, and he won’t touch fish fingers any more, and he used to love them when he was little.’
I think maybe Martin’s been Making A Stand after all, which is rather impressive of him.
‘No, I’ll do them. Gran says she’ll have the boys and it’ll only be one night a week, but we need to try new things, we really do, otherwise the shop will never make any money and we’ll have to close, like so many of the other small shops have. Anyway, I think it’ll be fun. Now then, shall we have another cup of tea and get started on the stock check? Only Gran will be back with the boys soon and I still need to look through these orders.’
‘I’ll go up and make a fresh pot. Would you like another biscuit?’
‘Please.’
Christ, I’ll end up completely spherical if she carries on at this rate.
I know Elsie’s nervous of change, and I’m feeling pretty nervous about it myself, but the shop only made two thousand pounds profit last year, which according to the books I got from the business section in the library is the retail equivalent of being in the kind of coma where they either start playing your favourite music and sticking pins in your legs, or else turn the machines off. And the books say the vital thing you need in a shop is a detailed profile of your core customers, like the supermarkets do when they send you money-off vouchers for couscous with your clubcard statement, even though you only bought it once, by mistake, and your children refused to eat it because they said it looked like sick. At the moment my core customer is called Doris, and she’s a hundred and eight, and she may not be able to remember where she’s put her front-door key, but she knows the price of four-ply down to the last penny within a hundred-mile radius. What I really need is a few more in their mid-thirties, called Tara, or something ending in ee, who like beautiful glossy pattern books, and won’t faint if you ask them to pay eight pounds fifty for them. If they’re buying pastels for a baby they want raspberry or nougat, or duck-egg blue, never peach. Nectarine possibly, and sage greens and caramels and creams, in pure wool or cotton mixes. Or silks and mohair. Tara wouldn’t know how to knit a
‘Well that’s as may be, but I hope you know what you’re doing, because they’ll all be bringing in all sorts now, stuff they’ve had in their cupboards for years.’
‘We can always throw it out if it’s too manky.’
She sniffs; I think she’s trying to decide if manky is a rude word.
‘Have you got any more ideas, any more things you want to change? Only I’d quite like to know beforehand, and that way I can help you avoid making too many mistakes. Because it’s notas simple as it seems sometimes, you know. When you’ve been doing it for as long as I have.’
‘Nothing major, moving things around a little bit, and putting the newer stock in the front, and new window dispalys. I’d like to start a group, invite people in for a glass of wine – people are starting them all over the place, and they’re really popular. Not just in wool shops, people meet in pubs and cafés, too. They call them Stitch and Bitch groups.’
‘I’m not sure that sounds very nice; I don’t think our ladies would like anything like that. Couldn’t you call it something nicer?’
‘Yes, but that’s the whole point, Elsie. We need to attract new ladies – I mean women – into the shop.’
‘I know, what about Knit and Natter? That’s much nicer.’
‘It doesn’t sound so much fun, though, does it?’
‘Would you want me to work on any of these evenings, because I do have to get Jeffrey’s supper, and what with my Martin being home too, and in at all hours with his work, I sometimes end up cooking twice of an evening. And he can be quite a fussy eater, you know. It’s all salads and sandwiches, and he won’t touch fish fingers any more, and he used to love them when he was little.’
I think maybe Martin’s been Making A Stand after all, which is rather impressive of him.
‘No, I’ll do them. Gran says she’ll have the boys and it’ll only be one night a week, but we need to try new things, we really do, otherwise the shop will never make any money and we’ll have to close, like so many of the other small shops have. Anyway, I think it’ll be fun. Now then, shall we have another cup of tea and get started on the stock check? Only Gran will be back with the boys soon and I still need to look through these orders.’
‘I’ll go up and make a fresh pot. Would you like another biscuit?’
‘Please.’
Christ, I’ll end up completely spherical if she carries on at this rate.
I know Elsie’s nervous of change, and I’m feeling pretty nervous about it myself, but the shop only made two thousand pounds profit last year, which according to the books I got from the business section in the library is the retail equivalent of being in the kind of coma where they either start playing your favourite music and sticking pins in your legs, or else turn the machines off. And the books say the vital thing you need in a shop is a detailed profile of your core customers, like the supermarkets do when they send you money-off vouchers for couscous with your clubcard statement, even though you only bought it once, by mistake, and your children refused to eat it because they said it looked like sick. At the moment my core customer is called Doris, and she’s a hundred and eight, and she may not be able to remember where she’s put her front-door key, but she knows the price of four-ply down to the last penny within a hundred-mile radius. What I really need is a few more in their mid-thirties, called Tara, or something ending in ee, who like beautiful glossy pattern books, and won’t faint if you ask them to pay eight pounds fifty for them. If they’re buying pastels for a baby they want raspberry or nougat, or duck-egg blue, never peach. Nectarine possibly, and sage greens and caramels and creams, in pure wool or cotton mixes. Or silks and mohair. Tara wouldn’t know how to knit a
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