Tag Archives: Covent Garden

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The helpers and the help-myselfers in the shops

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There is such art, and so much skill, in the running of an excellent shop – one that attracts many, and offers cheerful service and affordable, worthwhile products.

Today I wandered down to Covent Garden in London. Covent Garden itself, and the streets around it, were like a flower garden of shops, all bright and beautiful and swarming with public. I joined the swarm for as long as my energy lasted, just looking, and wondering, and occasionally buying.

I was about a third of my way through my wander when I saw a brazen shoplifter in action, so brazen that I convinced myself he was part of the staff. He was well-dressed and middle-aged, and it was only when I saw him walk up the stairs and leave the building with his backpack stuffed with unpaid for goods, that I realised that he did not work there. I could only presume that the theft had been done with the co-operation of the member of staff who was standing as close to him as I was, and under the blind eye of the disinterested security guard on the door.

When I went back to the shop later in the afternoon I saw that the security guard was gone, and I heard that a member of staff was absent from the floor below where the incident had happened. I didn’t want to think about how many runs they’d managed that day.

As I walked away I wondered what kind of rent the excellent shop was having to pay in order to offer its goods to London … and I wondered how London would feel without such excellent shops.

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023

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The bells were out in Covent Garden

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London was busy with children today – half-term happy and full of sunshine. I met a few of them during the tube journeys I made.

The first family included three boys of primary school age, and two adults. They all remained calm during the few stops I was with them. Perhaps this was due to the middle child, aged around six, who seemed to be studying a copy of a medium-sized newspaper with real attention. Cool as a commuter he held the paper out wide in front of him, succeeding in drawing envious glances from the boy beside him. The family spoke only occasionally, and when they did it seemed to be in German.

On my next journey the second family to sit down opposite me were French. The three boys were around the same age as those in the first family, and were accompanied by two adults, one of whom I assumed was the grandmother. They all behaved immaculately, and were dressed immaculately – so immaculately I began to wish I’d made more of an effort. Then the third family arrived.

The two boys – one probably seven and the other a little younger – sat down beside me, while their mother stood, making anxious suggestions to them about sitting still. They did not listen. They knew they had the attention of the French boys on the seats opposite, and seemed to consider it a matter of national pride that they should demonstrate their best wrestling techniques and their worst language, while their mother wilted with exhausted embarrassment beside them. As my stop arrived the youngest was attempting acrobatics off the hand rail.

I left the train with a mental salute to all parents, but especially the lone parents out there, trying to manage young children through half-term. Definitely not one of the easier jobs going.

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023