"Even if I got rid of all my problems, I'd just go out and get new ones..."

The town I grew up in
7:57 p.m. on 2004-05-10

Why has it taken me this long to discover Internet TV?

Winamp put me onto it, and now I swear I will never be prised from my Soctrates again. Anime. Chinese tv. Random music videos. More anime.

*hugs Socrates*

Anyway... I might ramble about my home town. Which sucks, generally. Nothing to do and it's falling slowly into that whole, 'scallies hanging around street corners demanding fags' mode.

There is a stretch of road near my house which used to be your classic 'small village' street. At the far end was the Candy Shop. An old fashioned sweet shop, with cards and flowers and your normal chocolates, but behind the counter lay shelf upon shelf of jars full of sugary goodness. Lemon sherberts, strawberry bonbons, chocolate eclaires, liquorice, wine gums... stuff you can't get anymore, like rainbow sherbert and chocolate sticks and fizzbombs.

Next to that was Mange Tout, a family run fruit and veg shop. Very friendly, sold a good variety, doomed as soon as the Tesco superstore opened a mile down the road.

Next to that was Days. The bakers. Again, a family run business. When I worked in the Co-op I used to give mouldy lettuces to one of the owners with which to feed her rabbits. My sister and I grew up on their gingerbread men and sausage rolls, and then later chicken korma sandwiches and scotch eggs.

Next to that... well, okay, next to that was a small shop which changes hands like nobody's business. It currently sells paint. Before that I think it was various wooden furniture, and then before that... nah. Forgotten already.

Then there was the Natwest. Yup, a bank I could actually get to during its limited opening hours. I'm screwed now, of course. Internet banking is all well and good but you can't pay a cheque in that way, now can you?

And so our village street went. The Parish Halls next, which still holds the type of lessons to which only reluctant toddlers and optimistic grandmas attend. Then a hairdressers. Then the old shoe shop, which is still present, just a few yards down the road. Downsized, like so many other things. Not like its predeccessor, to which I always went for old school shoes, my mum picking out a suitable pair whilst my sister and I played on an oversized wooden train they had sat in the corner.

Now the street is half deserted. A couple of hairdressers, that paint shop (seriously, who creates a shop that just sells PAINT?!), and a couple of limited-range flower shops that do a nice side line in naff nick-naks.

Some things still remain. The post office, which I swear has not seen a lick of paint since 1803. The same year in which most of its patronage and staff were born. There's the hardware shop, family-run, which sells high quality kitchen and garden gear and is everybody's destination when they can't face the B&Q traffic. The newsagent remains, although it has suffered a name change, an extension, and is now run by a lovely Sheik family and not the bastard of an old man who used to torment children.

For a man who ran a sweet shop, he sure had a murderous glint in his eyes whenever someone younger than, oh, thirty five was around.

But I know even these things won't be around for ever. Times change, and small business will always struggle when faced by the larger competition.

Still, it feels like these shops are somehow connected to me, to my childhood. Watching them disappear, one by one, just serves as a reminder of how I'm growing up, of how distant that time and now is.

Meh....Things don't last forever. I know. But at least allow me the chance to wax all lyrical and reminisce over them.

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