Tuthills

This is one of those newsagents that tortures parents everywhere. It’s the eye-​popping pick ‘n’ mix counters, the immanently desirable cuddly toys and all those peculiar magazine versions of cartoons that makes this place a siren for little kiddies. They get sucked in by their own odious childlike greed and have to be surgically remove them from a larger-​than-​life stuffed Garfield twenty minutes later.
The proximity of Tuthills, which I think used to be a Bus Stop, to the cinema is what made Saturday matinees a tense experience for me and my family. I still pine after those bloody Garfields today. There really must be something genetic or magical about the allure of a stuffed Garfield because I never even found that cartoon strip amusing.
So I suggest if you’re going to a matinée in Dun Laoghaire that you sneak up on Little Billy and throw a sack over his head then run past Tuthill’s like a child snatching Santa Claus. It’ll be easier for everyone, otherwise, and take it from me, you’ll never hear the end of his wailing and moaning about Garfield.