Bra Rage

Portsmouth is a big city squeezed into a small space. That in itself means the city has gravity, or do I mean it's a black hole?
The buildings look as though they have grown organically, strange shapes and styles all huddled alongside one another like trees that have grown from whatever seeds the birds happened to drop.
Kevin remarked once that it is odd for him to see all the shops, restaurants, pubs and churches side by side with housing. As Sue and I walked the children to playgroup today I looked again with my visitor specs on. Down one very short stretch of Elmgrove, probably big enough to house a Tim Horton's and a Rona, I counted three different Indian restaurants, three Chinese, a Carribean one, a halal meat shop, an evangelical church, a pub called 'The Honest Politician', several houses and flats and in a small terrace called 'the Mikado Buildings', the Portsmouth Irish Centre.

The places of worship can be similarly strangely located. Down a side street not far from Austen and Sue's home, is a large house that looks residential, except that in the wrought ironwork of the gates you can see a star of David and the words 'Southsea Synagogue'. A little further out of town is a mosque whose door is side by side with the door of the building attached to it, a church of some denomination or another. The one which always makes me stop and think, literally round the corner from Austen and Sue, is the Spiritualist Temple. This is a semi-detached house and I always wonder what it is like living in the other semi. Does the spiritual energy summoned in the Temple keep them awake at night? Who knows.

The people are the best of people, the worst of people. I am deliberately trying to parody Charles Dickens who was born here. Like everywhere however, most of the people are just regular folks dealing with the details of their lives.
I went into Debenhams department store yesterday. I have difficulty finding bras the right size and fit, so as I approached the lingerie department I was slightly in tune with the loud voice filling the whole floor, complaining about the lack of sexy bras in a larger size. The woman and her partner seemed to be upbraiding all of the staff in one go. There weren't many people shopping in the store but the haranguing had an entertainment value.
'You have all these bras in here, but when I ask for something in my size all I get shown is something that covers me up completely, I don't want that just because I have a larger bosom, I want something pretty, something sexy, what about younger women with the larger bust, they don't want to be shown these bras that cover them up, what about women with breast enhancements, how do you cater for them, how do you think my poor husband feels....?' and on and on it went. Personally I thought her poor husband would be rather embarrassed by it all, except that he seemed to be equally irate about the iniquity of it. I felt like an old man in a mac, trying to pretend I wasn't there and looking at underwear, whilst also wanting to see what this woman looked like. Was she a mature super model, an actress perhaps? When I did risk a peek, she seemed a very normal middle aged woman with an ordinary figure. Duncan, the floor manager was having to deal with the couple as all the salesfloor staff had slunk off. He calmed them down by pretending to care about their very real concern.
Like them, I didn't find a bra to fit, but clearly unlike them, I remember the existence of Marks and Spencer who usually come up with the goods. At any rate, I didn't trouble Duncan, who looked as though he'd had enough of dealing with middle-aged chests for one day and he kicked a box on his way back into the manager's office.