Diary of a Shopkeeper, 31st May

Thanks for clearing that up, OIC…

A Day Atween Waethers is the title of Ingrid Grieve’s beautiful book of poetry and paintings. If there was to be a shopkeeper’s version, it might be called A Day Atween Liners. For the brief four-month season from mid May to mid September, the rhythm of our days is determined by when big cruise liners are docking in Kirkwall. Big boats mean more staff answering the same questions – ‘No, we don’t have any Scapa miniatures’ is still No 1 – and bigger totals in the till. Small boats or no boats means lower sales, but also the opportunity to have a civilised conversation with regulars in the middle of their shopping. There’s no time to do that on a big liner day. In fact, quite a few of our regulars avoid the town when they see a big ship in the bay: too many unkan folk! I’m sure they avoid the supermarkets at Christmas for the same reason.

On such a quiet day, last Thursday to be exact, several familiar faces happened to wander in at the same time. There was ony one topic on anyone’s mind, and it wasn’t Scapa miniatures.

‘Shopkeeper!’ wailed Mrs Stentorian, before the door had even closed behind her. ‘I’m disappointed in you.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ I said, ‘But why?’

Willie Pickle’s blue boilersuit appeared from behind her indigo Ilse Jacobsen raincoat. ‘Have you seen the list, beuy? It’s a damn disgrace.’

‘You mean the list of the council’s credit card purchases?’ (Of course he did: no one had been talking about anything else all day.)

‘Perxactly,’ said Willie.

‘You should be ashamed,’ said Mrs S. ‘You’re not on the list!’

‘I wish I was,’ I said, ‘It would have meant a few more pounds in the till. I suppose there’s not much call for cheese and wine up at School Place.’

Bruce Brass had been lurking at the whisky display, peering suspiciously at every single price label. Now he let out a great harrumph of disbelief and disgust. ‘So how did they manage to spend half a million at Tesco?’ he growled.  

‘They didn’t,’ I said. ‘It says here, on the actual list, that they spent £19,682.57 there.’

‘I heard half a million,’ said Bruce. ‘And it was my wife’s brother who told me. I ken who I trust. And he doesn’t live in School Place.’

‘Maybe he rounded it up a bittock,’ said Willie.

‘The fact remains,’ said Mrs Stentorian, ‘That you didn’t supply our dear public authority with anything at all. Speaking as a proud Orcadian myself…’

Bruce made a choking noise. She glared at him.

‘Speaking as a proud New Orcadian,’ she went on, ‘Or Norcadian, if you like, I’m honoured to serve the OIC in any way I can. For instance, I always make sure I put the appropriate recycling bin out on the correct day.’

‘Give the lass a medal,’ muttered Bruce.

‘Can’t you make a similar effort, Shopkeeper, in the public spirit? I’m sure you could supply some of what they buy from Tesco – you just need to sharpen your pencil and beat the supermarket prices.’

‘I’ve looked at the list,’ I said. ‘I don’t think any of it’s for wild cheese and wine parties. I bet if you had a closer look, you’d find the Tesco spend was nappies and bairns’ clothes, and teabags and beans. You know, real essentials.’

‘You can’t call teabags an essential,’ cried Mrs S. ‘I only ever use loose leaf Lapsang Souchong. That’s essential to me. I order it from Fortnum & Mason.’

‘Have you never heard of Corporate Parenting?’ I said. ‘The council has to help look after youngsters when families split up, or houses burn down, or when the parents are having some kind of mental health crisis. I bet a good lot of that Tesco money goes for essentials at times like those.’

‘I still think you could make more of an effort,’ she said.

‘How?’ I said. ‘’Should I go up to the One Stop Shop and say, ‘I hear some poor lass has left her abusive husband. Here, have a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape and a kilo of Roquefort.’’

‘You’re being facetious now,’ said Mrs Stentorian. ‘You know as well as I do that a rich red wine is not a good match for salty blue cheese.’

‘The point is,’ I said, ‘That we do help when we can. Next week, for instance, we’re donating wine for the opening of the Degree Show at the college art department. It’s not much, but it’s the kind of thing we can do.’

Bruce snorted. ‘Donating, you say? And what do you get in return?’

‘Nothing!’

Willie Pickle laughed. ‘Watch this space: Next stop House of Lords for the shopkeeper – for services rendered.’

‘Not that there’s anything wrong with the House of Lords,’ said Mrs Stentorian. ‘As a bishop, my father used to ‘don the ermine’ and…’

What her father used to do escaped me, as all three of them walked out of the shop, debating vociferously whether Orkney could have a new growth industry supplying stoat fur for ermine robes. I told you we were a hub of civilised conversation.

This diary appeared in The Orcadian on 4th June 2026. A new diary appears weekly. I post them in this blog a few days after each newspaper appearance, with added illustrations, and occasional small corrections or additions.