Wincanton

Some of you will know that I have a love of all things Discworld. I have all the books, and lots more that Terry Pratchett has written and I think they're among the world's greatest literary works. But until a few days ago, I had no idea that there was a shop in Somerset that was the official salesplace for all kinds of Pratchett/Discworld related stuff. So, as the little town of Wincanton was on the road between Stonehenge and Exeter anyway, I planned a little visit there.

Then this morning, while looking for the exact adress to put into my magic placefinding machine (aka my GPS) I visited their webpage, and for the first time I scrolled down their front page and discovered to my great dismay and consternation that the store was temporarily closed due to building maintenance. Lower lip trembling and tears forming I still decided to swing by and at least get in a pic of the place.

And boy am I glad I did... As I parked and walked down, I saw people taking some stuff out of a car and carrying it inside. I asked a lady in the most lost and forlorn way I could muster whether they were closed. She said they were, and then asked if I'd come a long way. "Norway" I said, voice trembling. "That counts", she said and then invited me in.

I was in heaven. The little shop is stuffed floor to ceiling and wall to wall with books and stickers and figurines and clothes and and and... everything you can possibly think of and then some. And such wonderful, warm, kind and just NICE people working there! And funny too, them being British and all. I bought one rather pricey scarf, which was made in Oxford. So I asked if it was made from students' hair, being so expensive. "Yes", answered the blonde behind the counter. "Virgin hair".

One older guy came out from the back room to shake my hand when he heard I was from Norway. He told me he'd just come back from a Discworld convention in Germany and related a little story - apparently "Lili/Lily Marleen/Marlene" had been playing and he'd been whistling along. Now, this is a tune well loved on both sides of the Second World War, something the Krauts aren't always aware of. So some Kraut had asked him if he knew the tune. "Oh yes", the Brit had answered, "my father used to sing it". "Oh", said the Kraut, "and where had your father heard it"? "At El Alamein", answered my Brit friend. Priceless.

We chatted a little, and he told me some more anecdotes about his father, who'd also been to Norway and helped the Norwegian Free Forces mop up some stuff up north just after the war. He wasn't sure about where this happened, but apparently his father and some friends had "liberated" a whole cellar full of wine and spirits the Krauts had left behind, and he'd been full of praise for the Norwegian girls...

As he turned and walked into the back room again, he confirmed to me the wit that makes me adore the British so much. He said he was going in for a nap as he'd had "a long journey from Germany", and then mumbled as he went: "though not as long a journey as Patton..." Only a Brit could have made that kind of quip and I love 'em, I love 'em, I LOVE 'EM for it.

A cat was occupying a chair in the store.


Cunning artificers indeed!


This was a small pub just upstreet from the Discworld shop. This is the kind of thing you see all the time in Britain, as they don't have quite the same concept of political correctness as the US, bless them.


So wonderfully, innocently offensive. I luvvvv it.