Boden’s big blunder... cutting back on catalogues
JOHNNIE Boden has been publicly beating himself up over a downturn in sales at his eponymous clothing firm. Too short, too fashion, too young, he says of his recent ranges. And he thinks it might have been a mistake to rein back on the widely distributed mail-order catalogue.
No doubt there were some errors made in the designs, in an attempt to attract a younger audience, but I doubt you can overstate the importance of a catalogue to a brand such as Boden.
A brand that has always been identified with a print catalogue filled with smiling, upbeat images depicting a world of beach holidays and country houses. A place where nothing is too ostentatious and never shabby. Bodenland. A world where you feel safe, comfortable and just a bit tempted to buy a colourful new sweater from the catalogue that has been sitting around the place for days.
Because sitting around and tempting is what catalogues do so brilliantly. They also come direct to you, right through the letterbox.
Online shopping demands that you first have the idea, that you might want to buy something, and then you log on to the site. Ninety per cent of the buys I make from catalogues are of things that I had no previous idea I wanted. And definitely didn’t need. But having flicked through the booklet several times, turning down corners of a few pages of items that interested me, then deciding I shouldn’t be spending more money, before going back to the catalogue, I do in the end buy something.
The growing success of Me+Em, another, if more pricey, British clothing brand is surely down to its mail-order catalogues that arrive with terrifying regularity, reminding people such as me that their life will improve significantly if they buy a new pair of wide-legged navy trousers. Or, moving away from the fashion sphere, there is trusty Lakeland, which must have sold heaven knows how many ice cream-makers and sets of knives to the British public simply because it’s so easy to come across a new essential as you flick through its many catalogue pages. Print catalogues have been cut back by many companies because they are expensive to make and distribute, and it’s hard to reach Generation Rent who change addresses, leading to a lot of paper on unresponsive doormats. But when they get to the right target, nothing beats them for regular bouts of delicious armchair shopping and hefty profits.
No hot water? It’s written in the stars
AUDREY, my yoga teacher, told me: ‘Mercury is in retrograde.’ This was in response to the fact that I had been feeling rotten the previous day. According to her, all manner of havoc can take place when the planet appears to move backwards, leading to possible disruption to our mood and technology.
The first time we discussed this matter was the day after David Bowie died, when it seemed possible that the Starman himself may have succumbed to planetary powers. Personally, I think my poor health was a blip after having Covid the previous week, but I can’t really attribute the chicken going off, the hot water running out and the icemaker disgorging icebergs rather than ice cubes to the virus too.
Not even the new BA.2.86 strain, which I don’t know if I’ve just had or not.
The rustling I heard on the grapevine
TRYING to care for the natural world can be a challenge. Outside our kitchen door is a grapevine, currently at its most splendid. However, a bird (probably a pigeon) has noticed that high up in the vine is a terrific spot to build a nest and has been rustling around noisily in the grape-laden thicket.
That was fine until I found a huge splodge of white bird poo on the ground every morning. I know that the RSPB takes a dim view of dismantling nests, but I take a dim view of a disgusting mess outside the kitchen, so the nest had to go – at, I might add, great risk to life and limb.
I’ve reinstated it in a rather brutalised form in another tree, and now spend a lot of time feeling guilty and hoping that the bird will take to its transplanted home.
An angry mother’s weapons of choice
I’VE been trying to discover whether under-fire Spanish football boss Luis Rubiales is an only child. But, so far, my research has come to nothing. I bet he is, though, because as a mother-of-one I totally understand his mum’s decision to go on hunger strike over the reaction to his controversial kiss.
Of course she locked herself in the church during her protest, because mothers have to do something if the world has seemingly risen up against their much-loved son. You can’t just sit by and watch. So she turned to food and religion – the two staples of Spanish family life – to make her point.
Same park but very different memories
My step-grandson came to visit from the United States, where he lives, and we walked to the park, which we had visited last summer when he was with us. When I asked if he remembered it, expecting he might have fond memories of the petting zoo, or the playground, or the pitch-and-putt course, he said he did. He remembered that it was where he had dropped his ice cream on the ground and wasn’t allowed another one. This was an excellent example of the way that places are only really a collection of things that happen to us when we are in them.
It’s huge cars that need to slim down
I WAS beginning to think that my parking skills were diminishing with age, but now I learn it’s not me at fault but an epidemic of auto-obesity. According to Which? magazine, there are 161 models of car that are too long for regulation-sized parking spaces and 27 too wide to comfortably open the doors if you’re boxed in, squeezing the rest of us out.
All those skinny, Ozempic-jabbing mums who drive huge SUVs, jamming up residential London roads, should consider putting their cars on a diet.