Short Story - January 2008

Forever Argos                                                  

I don’t spend much time in front of mirrors. When I do they yield few surprises. My reflection is pretty much as expected although my loss of a flat stomach sometimes still comes as a revelation and there was a time a few years ago when my jaw line seemed to sag irreversibly over a mere matter of days. Basically I’m a tall, middle aged, mud brown eyed woman. Sartorially I favour men’s second hand tweed jackets and loose corduroy trousers in any shade from moleskin to mustard!

On this particular winter’s morning I’d arranged to meet my friend Julia in Debenham’s. Apart from Marks & Spencer’s food department it’s the only shop in Hastings, Julia’s willing to enter. She says that although she loves the town, per se, it’s actually full of chavs and people who smell. If she, Julia, won the Lottery (which is unlikely as she doesn’t do the Lottery because that would mean going into say, a tobacconist and possibly rubbing shoulders with chavs and smelly people) she’d go back to London and buy a three storeyed Victorian house overlooking Islington Square.

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