29 December

Clutching four kitkats the kind old lady who'd told me to go to home yesterday when I'd said I wasn't well, queried (after asking if I was feeling better) "Is that the queue?!?" I said yes. "I'm not waiting that long, I'll come back tomorrow". I said today was closing day, we wouldn't be here tomorrow, then wished I hadn't when she looked about to cry, as if she'd been in denial. I know how she felt : walking towards the store at lunchtime today I'd seen people coming out with Woolworths baskets and realised we must have run out of bags. Forever.

We'd been moving stuff to the front of the store all week, and the back annex which was just for toys, and for which children made a beeline as soon as Woolworths shopfront was sighted, parents dangling at the rear, had been empty for days. Little ones would wander in through the hanging CLOSING DOWN poster and stare, bewildered into darkness, looming shelves hard and hostile without the bright come hither dolls, cars and games, then turn to a parent, or me or whoever went in after, lips trembling "Where have all the toys gone?" Today when I came in, it was all lit up and full of clanging, shelves rapidly being dismantled and put into a van for a shop going for rent on the front.

Over and over people would clasp my arm and say "What will you do now, have you anything lined up?"

Though I'd been told to tidy up it seemed like sweeping a sandstorm. We'd moved everything left into the front quarter last night and already half had gone. I got a price gun and just stood still telling people how much things were. I'd thought everything would start at 90% off today, but it was only 80%, though no one could believe how cheap things were even then, and I'd have to scan stuff again and show them as delighted smiles spread. Suddenly word went round everything would go down to 90% at 3 o' clock and it got more fiercely busy, the sound reminding me of jumble sales. Of course there were no baskets so all the boxes I had tidied up became valuable commodities.

Old ladies still asked hopefully for tights. It had used to make me frustrated when the closing down sale started and shelves were emptying, still people asked if we'd got more of something upstairs. Now it just made me sad. How is everyone going to cope?

The last customers were out by 5.30, but before then people had come to strip out shelving from the main part of the store. My little boy came in with his dad and began to cry "I want Woolworths back, why does it have to go?" Full of customers it had been like killerwhales in a feeding frenzy now the carcass was drifting down to the depths, gnawed to the bones. I wanted to tell them to go away, that it was a mistake and we'd open again in January.

What was left? Beach toys, Top Trumps, Worth It stuff and a few cd's. Oh, yes, some canisters...

And hugs