Bhs

When I was 16 I got a job in my local BHS. They paid me a measly £2.77 an hour to work on their womenswear department and I remember being pleasantly surprised at how, every now and again, they’d get some decent items of clothing which were fine for someone my age rather than the middle aged housewives BHS is renowned for appealing to. So, where a lot of people my age would write it off until December when the much-​loved Christmas shop arrives, I always pop my head in especially when the sales are on to see if I can grab me a bargain, which I know that no-​one else my age will be wearing. Another reason to go into this BHS is the cool little café on the side with its own entrance. Where it is nigh on impossible to get a table at the nearby Costa on a busy Saturday, in here you should be OK.

Bhs — not the most exciting of places, it has to be said. This particular branch also houses a café, though I reckon it must take a fairly remarkable lack of imagination to consider grabbing your lunch from here. The shop itself isn’t the largest example of the chain, so the stock is fairly limited. At Christmas the whole lower floor seems to turn into a corporate nightmare, supplying all of those horrendous and overpriced «gifts» that no-​one in their right mind would ever hope to receive. The rest of the year they stock a range of relatively bland womenswear, menswear and homeware.