Despite my obsessional study of the weather forecast before venturing to post a letter, let alone visit another country, I can somehow never really believe that the weather elsewhere is much different from what I'm currently experiencing. So leaving London in balmy autumn weather I arrived ill-equipped for the brisk northern chill of Tallinn. The first evening, we dutifully explored the Old Town, admiring the architecture with chattering teeth. The waiters in the rip-off restaurant recommended by the hotel (always a mistake) looked bemused when we asked to sit indoors and thoughtfully left the doors open in case we found it stuffy.
Next morning it drizzled and ironically, having left the largest mall in western Europe behind in London, we resorted to shopping. Unlike the gleaming ziggurats which masquerade as malls in the US, the crumbling edifice close to our hotel had all the decrepit charm of a 1980s shopping centre in Basingstoke. Nevertheless, within an hour we had bought a wrist watch and a pair of trousers. The latter were bright red and wearing them made me feel like one of those people who buy hereditary titles on eBay. Our final quarry was some makeup for Sally who normally eschews the stuff but somehow felt she couldn't manage without it for a long weekend in Tallinn. The shop was empty and a single assistant regarded us balefully from behind the counter. Her mask-like face evidenced her commitment to her profession. Not content with the concept of foundation, like a celebrity architect striving to engineer an iconic building, she had started at the sub-basement and worked her way through the storeys, finally reaching the penthouse of blusher. In attempting to showcase the entire stock on her own face she had produced the garish effect beloved of face painters at country fairs which delight seven year old children but horrify their parents. I looked at her again and despite her camouflage I was sure I could detect signs of life, or maybe her skin was simply twitching in allergic response to the cocktail of potions assaulting it. Sally was inveigled by this robot into buying a brush to apply the foundation she selected. Costing over 20 euros, to my ignorant eye it looked indistinguishable from the sorts of brush you pick up in packets of three for a fiver at the local DIY shed.
By the following morning, the the handle and the bristles of the make up brush had parted company. I forebore to suggest that this wouldn't have happened with a B&Q product. As it was our last day, we thought it simplest to return the brush before our final round of sightseeing. The shop was deserted and we explained the problem to the same assistant, who must have got up several hours before us to refurnish her face. She regarded the remnants of the brush gravely and then opined that it had got wet. Sally replied sweetly that its washability had been promoted as a key selling point the day before. Woodenly the mannequin stated that she couldn't offer a refund. That was fine, a replacement was what we wanted, Sally explained, eyeing the shelf-full of brushes. That too was impossible as she couldn't offer exchanges without consent from her manager who was not available. We protested that since the item was clearly faulty surely there could be no argument about its replacement. She was undaunted by this reasoning. Impressed by her unflappable intransigence in the teeth of incontrovertible logic, it didn't seem worth invoking consumer protection laws. Something in her manner suggested that reference to a higher authority, such as the mayor or an EU commissioner, might prove necessary if we were to push the matter. I wondered silently what the word for jobsworth was in Estonian while she added that even if her manager agreed to the exchange there would be a lot of paper work involved which generally took two or three days to complete. Eventually when we explained that we were leaving Tallinn imminently she agreed to try to fast track the procedure and suggested that we should return in the afternoon.
At six o'clock we reentered the shop. It was empty as usual, and the thought crossed my mind that the whole enterprise was a front for money laundering, or that some of the vials contained substances more valuable than scent. On the counter, the impassive assistant had laid out three identical brushes. For a moment, it looked as though, in a crass and unnecessarily generous gesture, she was going to offer us all three as compensation for our disgruntlement. Instead it transpired that she had in mind a re-enactment of the scene from The Merchant of Venice where Bassanio has to choose a casket. Sally solemnly examined the first brush and pronounced it acceptable but the assistant insisted that she should try the others, as though Sally had progressed seamlessly from tiresome customer to head of quality control. She obliged, making great play of testing each thoroughly and finally making a difficult choice. After some further deliberation concerning which receipts we were entitled to retain, we were allowed to leave.
Increasingly I derive pleasure from returning to London. Few other cities offer such rich variety and the costs, to wallet and health (London consistently fails the EU air quality targets) seem to me entirely proportionate. An area of notable improvement is in public transport and I was reflecting on this as I walked to Sally's from the 21 bus stop the week after our sojourn in Tallinn. Noticing some jars on her dressing table, I enquired after the make up brush. "Oh, I haven't used it, I don't normally bother with brushes," she murmured.
© David Thompson 2012
Next morning it drizzled and ironically, having left the largest mall in western Europe behind in London, we resorted to shopping. Unlike the gleaming ziggurats which masquerade as malls in the US, the crumbling edifice close to our hotel had all the decrepit charm of a 1980s shopping centre in Basingstoke. Nevertheless, within an hour we had bought a wrist watch and a pair of trousers. The latter were bright red and wearing them made me feel like one of those people who buy hereditary titles on eBay. Our final quarry was some makeup for Sally who normally eschews the stuff but somehow felt she couldn't manage without it for a long weekend in Tallinn. The shop was empty and a single assistant regarded us balefully from behind the counter. Her mask-like face evidenced her commitment to her profession. Not content with the concept of foundation, like a celebrity architect striving to engineer an iconic building, she had started at the sub-basement and worked her way through the storeys, finally reaching the penthouse of blusher. In attempting to showcase the entire stock on her own face she had produced the garish effect beloved of face painters at country fairs which delight seven year old children but horrify their parents. I looked at her again and despite her camouflage I was sure I could detect signs of life, or maybe her skin was simply twitching in allergic response to the cocktail of potions assaulting it. Sally was inveigled by this robot into buying a brush to apply the foundation she selected. Costing over 20 euros, to my ignorant eye it looked indistinguishable from the sorts of brush you pick up in packets of three for a fiver at the local DIY shed.
By the following morning, the the handle and the bristles of the make up brush had parted company. I forebore to suggest that this wouldn't have happened with a B&Q product. As it was our last day, we thought it simplest to return the brush before our final round of sightseeing. The shop was deserted and we explained the problem to the same assistant, who must have got up several hours before us to refurnish her face. She regarded the remnants of the brush gravely and then opined that it had got wet. Sally replied sweetly that its washability had been promoted as a key selling point the day before. Woodenly the mannequin stated that she couldn't offer a refund. That was fine, a replacement was what we wanted, Sally explained, eyeing the shelf-full of brushes. That too was impossible as she couldn't offer exchanges without consent from her manager who was not available. We protested that since the item was clearly faulty surely there could be no argument about its replacement. She was undaunted by this reasoning. Impressed by her unflappable intransigence in the teeth of incontrovertible logic, it didn't seem worth invoking consumer protection laws. Something in her manner suggested that reference to a higher authority, such as the mayor or an EU commissioner, might prove necessary if we were to push the matter. I wondered silently what the word for jobsworth was in Estonian while she added that even if her manager agreed to the exchange there would be a lot of paper work involved which generally took two or three days to complete. Eventually when we explained that we were leaving Tallinn imminently she agreed to try to fast track the procedure and suggested that we should return in the afternoon.
At six o'clock we reentered the shop. It was empty as usual, and the thought crossed my mind that the whole enterprise was a front for money laundering, or that some of the vials contained substances more valuable than scent. On the counter, the impassive assistant had laid out three identical brushes. For a moment, it looked as though, in a crass and unnecessarily generous gesture, she was going to offer us all three as compensation for our disgruntlement. Instead it transpired that she had in mind a re-enactment of the scene from The Merchant of Venice where Bassanio has to choose a casket. Sally solemnly examined the first brush and pronounced it acceptable but the assistant insisted that she should try the others, as though Sally had progressed seamlessly from tiresome customer to head of quality control. She obliged, making great play of testing each thoroughly and finally making a difficult choice. After some further deliberation concerning which receipts we were entitled to retain, we were allowed to leave.
Increasingly I derive pleasure from returning to London. Few other cities offer such rich variety and the costs, to wallet and health (London consistently fails the EU air quality targets) seem to me entirely proportionate. An area of notable improvement is in public transport and I was reflecting on this as I walked to Sally's from the 21 bus stop the week after our sojourn in Tallinn. Noticing some jars on her dressing table, I enquired after the make up brush. "Oh, I haven't used it, I don't normally bother with brushes," she murmured.
© David Thompson 2012
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