Concrete and Clay

Last week my local DVD shop shut it's doors after at least 20 years. The owner - a former England Under 21 goalkeeper who would sit smoking fags, eating steaks and playing PlayStation golf until you roused him from his reveries into recommending a film you'd never otherwise have watched - had decided suddenly to pack it all in and sell up his highly-valued pitch in East London. Within 24 hours of its closing, and after a party in the empty shop, an upmarket furniture company put sofas for 5 grand where Steve Buscemi and Bill Murray's faces had been.

If you were late bringing your DVD back, Steve wouldn't bat an eyelid, nor would he if it didn't work in your machine and you brought it back an hour after renting it out, 'They just can't work it out can they? Bring back VHS!' You could also drop your film off at the corner shop if you couldn't make it to the DVD shop and they'd give it to Steve. We'd sometimes bump into him after his shop had shut, sipping Italian lager in the local boozer, giving tips on cooking lamb to Ukrainian waitresses.

Yesterday I got a letter from an amazon drone telling me to pay 20 bucks immediately to avoid a fine for a non-returned DVD I posted to them weeks ago. I tried calling them to explain that I'd sent it and met another droid. I don't want this to sound like a luddite paean to former glories but I still wanted to smash to pieces the What's Eating Gilbert Grape (great film though) DVD that came free with last week's paper.