Newcastle’s Grainger Market is almost 175 years old, but it’s the very model of a modern retail centre. These days, shopping centres are huge shiny things where you need GPS to get around but Grainger Market is just the right size and still has everything you need. That great shopping anthem, the ‘Are You Being Served?’ theme tune could have been specially written for it - perfumery, stationery and leather goods, wigs and haberdashery, kitchenware and food, going up!

Arranged neatly in a grid, a series of numbered ‘alleys’ contain spruce shopfronts and orderly displays. The pyramids of fruit and veg are shiny and fresh, and I saw a butcher’s stall so beautiful that it would make a vegetarian weep. Everything is refreshingly straightforward. The name says it all – The Shaver Centre, Bags of Bags and The Wig Shop need no explanation. Jewel Box has gifts for all occasions, Simply Men sells ‘everything for the modern man’ provided he likes walking sticks and driving gloves and Petticoat Lane sells underwear and smalls that are actually quite large. However the Plain English award goes to The Cheap Tab Shop, dispensing cigarettes at competitive prices, and doing a roaring trade if the queue was anything to go by.

Amongst the remarkably unremarkable stalls, the last remaining Marks and Spencer’s Penny Bazaar comes as a bit of a surprise. Michael Marks opened the first of these in Leeds in 1834 and their success turned M&S into a household name. This year as M&S celebrates 125 years in the business, the stall in Grainger Market is as modest as it has always been. Officially the world's smallest branch of Marks and Spencer, its original signage dating from 1895 is considerably more beautiful than its high street compadres.

The Weigh House is another gem. For 20p you can step on a pair of huge scales and have an attendant discretely write your weight down on a little ticket. As there’s a constant queue there’s a sense of camaraderie that you don’t get at weight watchers. There are screams of joy from some ladies when they see they’ve lost a pound or two (insert “ah-weigh the lads” joke here).

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Posted by Anne on September 05, 2009 | Permalink | Comments (5)

In received opinion, modernist planning and architecture is a sterile, over-rationalised affair. Supposedly, it is blind to context, a purveyor of universal solutions and interchangeable types.

Maybe you could believe that looking at many of the post-war modernist shopping centres and estates of Britain, but a quick trip to Sheffield ought to change your opinion. Or rather, a visit to a handful of landmarks that have miraculously escaped a council decidedly handy with the dynamite – Park Hill, Gleadless Valley, and finally, Castle Market. These places, all making gleeful play of Sheffield's exceptionally hilly and diverse terrain, were planned under J. Lewis Womersley, the City architect hired in 1952, who within a decade commissioned 50,000 homes, designing on the side a multitude of schools and local centres, of which the finest surviving is our subject here. Now that Park Hill is undergoing stripping and gentrification and Gleadless languishes in obscure poverty, Womersley's socialist, modernist Sheffield is best seen in this remarkable shopping centre, of all things - built in 1960-5 and now slated for demolition.

The job architect here, Andrew Darbyshire, designed what could be described as a Megastructure before the fact, although never as domineering and 'iconic' as that would suggest. Rather than, as is customary, plonking down from on high a hangar or a slab, Darbyshire fitted a multitude of interconnected structures into a small, sloping site – an office block, with a distinctive angular profile; a raised walkway system with shops; and the markets themselves, three floors – all with access to the street on different levels of the hill – and a wildly curving entrance ramp at the back. Inside, there is a panoply of strange and fascinating things.

Like Park Hill, what is clever and unusual in Castle Market is that it's a modernist design that specifically tries to engineer bustle and individuality, so that you notice both the ingenious design of the labyrinthine structure, but also the competing design ambitions of the many stalls and built-in shops. Much of Castle Market, both the building itself and its individual units, retains original 1960s signage, making it a particular goldmine for classic caff enthusiasts. There's The Soda Fountain, in elegant, continental Sans Serifs seemingly absconding from a Blue Note record cover; the competing signs of Sharon's, where more recent promises of greasy excellence sit alongside a midcentury modern sign declaring 'Snack Bar'; on the outside walkways there's the deep red vitrolite box housing Cafe Internationale, its name appropriately reflecting the former Socialist Republic of South Yorkshire; formica tables and oddly Victorian chairs at Tennant's; the aspirationally named Riviera Snack Bar, replete with palm tree motifs and the promise (or threat) 'watch out for our specials'; and, best of all, the excellent Roof Top Café, which boasts a fantastically ambitious space-age suspended ceiling hanging over formica tables, a patterned floor and net curtains. That's just those open on a Thursday morning.

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Posted by Owen on July 20, 2009 | Permalink | Comments (2)

The Old Pier Book Shop on Morecambe's Marine Road (the main drag) makes Glasgow’s Voltaire and Rousseau look positively organised. After browsing through the boxes and shelves outside I was tempted in, a little daunted by the amount of books inside. Open the door and the smell hits you, that unmistakable booky odour. Alan Bennett was blaring out on the radio, which couldn't have been more appropriate.

Inside, it is huge in a Tardis-like fashion. A series of doorways (all framed by books, even along the top) lead into each other, creating a strange Hall of Mirrors effect. Because there were so many books on show I had pretty much convinced myself that the book about motorway services stations that I'd been looking for would be there somewhere. So I looked for the travel section but nothing seemed to be in any particular order. There are some shelves that might possibly be a war section, and some vaguely historical titles but in the main, any subject arrangement appears coincidental, at best.

There are no signs or labels either, which in a bookshop this size seems foolhardy if not downright wilful. No matter though, because the owner, Tony Vettesse claims he knows where everything is. His parents ran the premises as a cafe called The Ramblers for years. When they retired Tony decided to give the second-hand books that he'd been slipping into the cafe their own space. 60,000 titles later and here we are.

Burrowing into the interior, I quickly lost my travelling companion along with all sense of time and space. The volume of books and the labyrinthine layout of the shelves make it disorientating very quickly. It was a relief to reach the sci-fi section at the back and be able to ignore a few bays. Randomly, over by what I believe may be windows is a stuffed goose.

It was one of the few shops in Morecambe open after 5 on a Saturday and I wondered if we'd be locked in. The proprietor was so hemmed in by stock that I'm not even sure he noticed us arriving. It's quite possible that down the back there's a little Japanese soldier still fighting the war. I did wonder if they ever close, as the range of stock outside looks like it would be a bit tricky to secure. I'd just stay open I think. Books make great pillows.

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Posted by Anne on March 01, 2009 | Permalink | Comments (4)

Fitzpatrick's Temperance Bar in Rawtenstall, Lancashire is the oldest original temperance bar in Britain. When it opened in 1890, temperance bars were ten a penny. There was no tax on alcohol, so every hour was happy hour. Alcoholism was rife, and in 1832, Joseph Livesey, a cheese-maker from Preston decided to take matters into his own hands - the Temperance Movement was born. Initially, steering clear of spirits was enough to get you membership but after a while "taking the pledge" came to mean no alcohol whatsoever. In fact, the word teetotal is said to come from one member, who spoke with a stammer and said that nothing would do except "tee-tee-total abstinence".

In the early twentieth century, temperance bars became the focal point of many communities with locals gathering for a quick sarsparilla as the Band of Hope children sang uplifting songs. The Fitzpatrick family were renowned herbalists and ran a chain of temperance bars throughout Lancashire. Malachi Fitzpatrick, the last in the family line ran the Rawtenstall bar for over fifty years and lived until he was ninety, putting his long and healthy life down to the tonic and potions he brewed in the shop.

Fitzpatrick's now has new owners, who have given the place a sympathetic refit. Visitors can continue to enjoy their award-winning home made cordials like sarsaparilla, blood tonic (a lot nicer than it sounds) and dandelion and burdock. The original bar is a tremendous looking thing, almost organ-like with mysterious stops for Cream Soda and “Wino” among others. The shelves are full of jars with strange sounding ingredients like comfrey and borage, and for the less adventurous there are traditional sweets (lot of Uncle Joe's Mint Balls) and remedies.

The place is littered with vintage bits and pieces like Reckitts Crown Blue soap and Asepso antiseptic soap. Some familiar brands like Vimto (invented in Manchester as Vim Tonic) and Eno's had their roots in these sort of places. In the supermarket they have a job competing against new, shiny competitors but here they're in a fusty, yet very pleasant world of their own. Herbalists have had to weather the storm of fashion over the years, shunned as the domain of cranks, so it's heartwarming to find Fitzpatrick’s in such rude health.

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Posted by Anne on December 06, 2008 | Permalink

Voltaire & Rousseau is everything that a great second-hand bookshop should be. Silent, dishevelled and rammed to the rafters with great books. It has been quietly sitting in Otago Lane for over 30 years, becoming a mecca for Glasgow's students and intellectuals. It's not a big place but every inch is chock full of something. What I love most about it is that there's no real sense of hierarchy. It gives the impression that no book is too unfashionable, too old or too shabby. New books mingle with old. Hardbacks and paperbacks come together, pamphlets are fair game. If the spine is broken or the dust jacket's ripped that's fine, no one stands on ceremony here. It feels like more a tribute to the printed word than a business.

As you enter there's an ante-room filled with the discards of serious book sorting efforts. You can often hit paydirt here. Wonderful vintage books that even charity shops won't touch, Penguin paperbacks, Faber plays, Haynes car manuals, 1970s textbooks, and spectacular children's books from the 1950s are piled high, sprinkled with general odds and ends like pamphlets, maps and even a pile of disembodied dust jackets.

Inside, the shop is a delicious muddle of books. Shelves line the walls and run in a spine up the middle. They tidied up once, for an appearance in Channel 4 comedy The Book Group but usually the books spill off the shelves in all directions. Browsing is encouraged by the sheer logistics of getting anywhere. To move at all it is necessary to shuffle along the tight alley of visible carpet. At the back on a hairpin bend, the way is obstructed by some cat food and a cat bowl. The cats are as much a part of the shop as the books and can often be seen sleeping in drawers or other cosy places.

Round the corner, a ladder has sat still for too long and had some books shoved on it, blocking the way. Progress down this aisle is particularly tricky as what's on the shelves is obscured by the waist high pile of overspill. Occasionally the silence is disturbed by the gentle plomph of a book-related landslip. Like a game of Jenga, pick up the wrong one and the whole thing collapses. This only adds to the wonderful experience; the sense that there's something amazing but out of reach beneath the surface.

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Posted by Anne on July 05, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (5)

Tunnock’s dominate the town of Uddingston, 7 miles south-east of Glasgow. For over 100 years the family firm has been pumping out their trademark Tea Cakes, Caramel Wafers and other delights for the pleasure of Scotland’s rotten-toothed populace. Tunnock’s products are such a part of Scottish heritage that they’ve followed ex-patriots round the world, winning them the sort of global following that most brands would kill for.

Established in 1890 by Thomas Tunnock, their products haven't changed much over the years, with their distinctive sunburst packaging and slightly wonky lettering. In a world that's constantly changing, there's something very reassuring about that. Traditionally, they’re a bit of an old-person’s snack, but that association with a trip to your granny's means that from an early age each bite of Tunnock’s is imbued with more than just sugary satisfaction. Thanks to this they have a loyal, almost cult following.

In Uddingston, their “Daylight” bakeries loom large on one side of the main street, while the Tunnock’s Tea Rooms nestle among a row of shops on the other. The Tea Rooms are a delight for any Tunnock’s lover, or indeed anyone with a sweet tooth. As well as a range of rare Tunnock’s biscuits (Wafer Crème, Coconut Meringue, Florida Wafer – all delicious) there are spectacular cakes, pies and loaves. At the back there is a café, not the most attractive of places, but still a cheap and cheerful place to refuel.

While you eat/shop, there are constant reminders of the glory of Tunnock’s. The staff have a caramel wafer shaped patch sewn onto their aprons, the counter is covered in miniature Tunnock’s vans, the walls lined with old adverts and then there are the window displays – oh boy, the window displays. Inhabiting the windows is a family of anthropomorphic creatures with bodies made from Caramel Logs, Tea Cakes and other Tunnock's paraphernalia. They are fantastically bizarre - a sign of genius, or madness. It's hard to tell which.

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Posted by Anne on January 22, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (7)

Of all the seaside towns in all the world, the biggest rock shop has to be in one of them, and it’s Great Yarmouth. It’s only fitting that a resort so unashamed of its dedication to traditional leisure and pleasure throws healthy eating to the wind and gets down to the serious business of getting rock right.

It’s not completely clear what kind of competition Docwras Rock Factory has for the “Biggest rock shop” title, although a couple of other establishments in Regent Road look like they’re thinking of having a go. Although the shopfront is relatively modest they’re not exactly hiding their light under a bushel with the enormous neon sign saying “The World’s Largest Rock Shop” running right down one side of the interior.

And indeed, it’s big. One side is taken up with lots and lots of rock. All shapes. All sizes. All flavours. There’s everything – banana, raspberry, coffee, strawberries and cream, aniseed, different types of mint, and they come with almost anything stamped through the middle. Towards the back, beside the novelty shapes like baby’s dummies and fried breakfasts made of rock there’s even a “naughty section” with some genuinely eye watering things to put in your mouth.

Docwras is a family run business that has been making rock and other sweets for over 100 years. They’re quite happy to share the expertise of their “rock and rollers”. At the other side of the shop, beside a huge pipe painted rock pink another huge sign says “See Yarmouth Rock Made Here” with a sign showing the time of the next demo. Sadly, I missed it. Seeing as they make 80,000 sticks of rock every week it shouldn’t be long before another one comes along.

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Posted by Anne on July 16, 2007 | Permalink

If you ever find yourself starting casting aspersions on the youth of today take a trip to Tam Shepherd's Trick Shop in Glasgow's Queen Street. You'll find that the youth of today are doing what they've always done - stocking up on whoopee cushions and itching powder.

Trading from the same city centre premises for over 100 years the shop is small but tightly packed with goodies. Tricks and novelties are crammed into the glass-topped counters, partially obscured by saucer-eyed children and excited adults. Wigs, masks and a selection of celebrity rubber faces are behind you. It’s not often you see Mick Jagger, Tony Blair and Maggie Thatcher all rubbing shoulders. At the far end frivolity gives over to serious magic with a range of books and videos to suit the Sunday party-piece and the dedicated pro.

Tam Shepherd’s has been entertaining kids, big and small, since the late 1800’s making it one of the oldest joke shops in the country, second only to Davenports in London. When Tam Shepherd (he really did exist) died, Lewis Davenport, who was a magician appearing at the Glasgow Empire, bought the shop from Tam's widow. The business is now owned by his grand-daughter Jean, who runs the shop with her husband Roy Walton, a world famous card magician, and their daughters.

The family run the place with a deadpan laissez-faire attitude. Requests for rubber biscuits and fake dog turds are actioned discretely. Advice on the best moustache for a comedy Frenchman is expertly dispensed. Occasionally exciting trinkets are unearthed from mysterious boxes under the counter. They have the air of people who have seen it all – no request too strange.

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Posted by Anne on February 02, 2007 | Permalink | Comments (2)

Why would anyone travel hundreds of miles for a cold glass of ice water? You might think thirst is the obvious answer. Actually, it’s much more than just wetting one’s whistle that brings millions of people to the famous Wall Drug Store located in the small town of Wall, South Dakota. The "much more" part consists of roadside charm, friendly hospitality, unique shopping experiences and the opportunity to see unusual memorabilia that decorate this large tourist attraction.

During the depression of the 1930's, Ted and Dorothy Hustead started running a typical small town drug store. Dorothy had a brilliant idea to drum up some much needed business. The idea was to put up clever signs with catchy slogans along the road to bring in weary travelers for free ice water. Ted feeling silly about the whole thing was amazed as car after car pulled in looking for those cups of ice water. Besides picking up the free thirst buster, people started buying food and supplies for the rest of their trip. The Hustead’s found success in the middle of nowhere and all the thanks goes to those "silly" signs. Through the years these signs have been erected all over the world letting future travelers know just how many miles they are from Wall Drug.

If you find yourself traveling in the state of South Dakota you must journey onward to this beloved roadside realm of amazement and experience it for yourself! You can ride a giant Jackalope, see a fake Mount Rushmore, almost get eaten by dinosaur, watch kitchy animals come to life for a quarter (check out the YouTube links below), drink a nickel cup of coffee, listen to some singing cowboys, and even buy a few postcards. Of course give yourself plenty of time, because these are just a few of the fun things you’ll find at this place that’s as big as a shopping mall. Just remember as you drink that free glass of ice water that you’re part of a 75-year-old tradition that has made the Wall Drug Store one of America’s first and great roadside attractions.

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Posted by Todd Franklin on January 28, 2007 | Permalink | Comments (1)