Culture, Musings

Jessops RIP

It took her one point three centuries
But pitiless Clotho spun faithfully at her loom
Weaving the black abyss that’s swallowed you. Gasp!
And left two thousand employees stuck in doom’s clasp
But what in Zeus’ heaven could you have done?
The feckless gods left luckless man to his devices
And even you, long favoured on Britain’s High Street
Are biting the dust in pecuniary crisis

Your bright blue signage courted the passerby
Your cheap consumer stock, red rag to the bulls
The punters strolled in to check your wares
Like backstreet patrons casting about for whores
So they feigned interest in this “Model”
A white one, a black one, that fast lens is vital!

Shh! No money was ever, ever left on the table
The rabble, cackling, had fled to the devil

Home to the faithful mistress they returned
Cruel goddess of cheap, her ragged claws primed
“To me, my precious, to me!”, her whine becks
Like a crow, tripping, before dropping its whelk
Her fog is thick with crude deception, cold calculation
Oh, how she has gotten fat on our surfing fascination
For “deals”, for “deals”, for “deals”, for “deals!”
Her lyre strumming “Something for nothing”, Bravo! We waltz
While, in plain sight neighbourhood shops are ground to dust

But who can escape Fate and Bloody Destiny
We go when our bell tolls or else not
In Z and Omega, you’ve folded into Administration
Like the yucky napkin put away after an icky snot