Long Live Casa Bella!
I know I have vision for the store but the question is, how am I going to get there and how much is it going to cost me? Well, no more than £2,000 which means doing a lot the work myself, oh and drafting in good friends and bribing them with lots of cups and tea and sandwiches and maybe the odd biscuit or two.
I’ve also set about photographing, cataloguing and posting items on Ebay, not an experience that I’d like to repeat any time soon. What exactly is this love affair with Ebay? I know there are many out there that love the site but, well, I don’t get it! Nonetheless, it seems to have served the purpose. I had to slash a few prices here and there but I’ve managed to clear all of the outdated shelving and many of the fixture and fittings, and I’ve made room for the demolition team (that would be me and my trusty friend again).
We set about hacking the counter to bits and demolishing its supporting wall to rubble. It was hot and it was dusty and…. well, somewhat satisfying, albeit hard work. Before long, the space was cleared and ready for me to bring in the big guns but more on that later. The next
momentous task was to remove all signage. 
So, out I go with gloves and claw hammer and the first to bear the brunt of my frustrations was the wall sign.
And then, the epitome of the grocery store, the swinging sign! Dm dm dm! (cue dramatic music) Somebody had already contacted me about buying the sign along with its fixtures. At first I didn’t get the point until the obvious dawned on me; it would prove much cheaper for them to melt off the the old lettering and reuse the sign than it would be to buy a new one. And, I was all set to give it up for £60 as I just wanted shot of it and everything else that reminded me of the store. Sound mean? Allow me to explain…
Owning a convenience store is like surrendering a bit of you. You have to come to terms with the fact that because you are inviting people onto your land (in our case into our home, or an extension of it), they believe that they have a right to comment on everything that happens there. With a village store, that’s even more so because of the very thing that defines a village; a so called tight knit community. I’ve lost count of the amount of times that people have come in and said “your lights are still on” or “when are you gong to cut your grass?” or “when are you going to cut your hedge?” or “how do I get to this address….?” or ”I told the postman that he can leave my parcel with you until I get home” and so on… along with that we also had people traipsing over the lawn (despite the ‘keep of the grass’ signs -which were eventually stolen), people using the dustbin outside the shop door for their own garbage bags and last but not least my favourite; dog owners tying their dogs outside the store, allowing them to foul the area (or even the grass) but not bothering to clean up after themselves. Nice. You name it, we’ve seen it. To get a flavour of what it was like, imagine coming home to find a stranger’s car parked on your drive or parked across your drive so that you can’t get in or out. Now imagine strangers dropping litter outside your home, walking over your lawn (regularly) and their dog to defecate there without having the decency to clean up after it. the picture?
Needless to say that after putting up with this for years (because that’s what it takes to when you own a village store that just happens to be an extension of your home), it gets tiresome and you just want to take it all back.
Closing the the store was a momentous occasion, not necessarily because of the event itself but because of what it symbolised; the reclaiming of our home. No more dogs, cats or people, for that matter, would be entitled to walk all over our land, our home, our ‘beautiful home’ (cue musical strings) and cue the new name, Casa Bella.
It was then that I resolved that I’d spend as much money as was necessary to completely eradicate any trace of the shop, to remove the post box situated on our land (that’s right, another contentious issue once the shop closed as complete strangers would actually argue that they had a right to walk on our land to mail their letters. “Um, no, the post box was put there for your convenience whilst visiting the store.” Now that store is closed, you no longer have the right trespass. I wont bore you with the story of my altercation with a psycho lady who firstly barged her way through a closed gate to mail a letter and then had the audacity to start an argument with me about why she wasn’t warned that the box was closed. Um, the locked gate was a good hint! Needless to say, I sent her off with a flee in her ear.
So, the rooms been cleared, the counter’s gone, the sign’s been taken down and new one is ready to take its place but this is just the beginning…
When does a shop become a dining room?
Okay, so the store closed its doors (or door) in June 2010 and the question was, how did I feel about that? Well, relieved! It meant no early starts
for the family; my sister up at 05:00 to prepare the paper rounds for the delivery boys, my brother in law who’d have to come back from work and get behind the counter so my sister could prepare to go to work, and my mother who’d have to get up early and start baking. Oh, and me, of course, I’d no longer have to give up what precious free time I had to get on with the accounts! YEAH!
Yes, the memory of some of the the selfish dim wits that patronised the store faded fairly quickly. Even the memory of one particular moron who visited the store to settle her account (in the weeks leading up to the store closure). Our conversation went like this, she said, “it’s a shame the store’s closing. I don’t know how everybody else feels about it.” ”Well,” I replied, “Most have been quite supportive. They understand that when something’s no longer viable and it starts to affect your health, (my mother was starting to find a whole day’s work somewhat tiring) you have to do something about it.” She looked me square in the eyes and said, “well, if your mother was finding it difficult then maybe you should consider hiring somebody to man the store” I met her gaze and replied, “you obviously haven’t understood me, the shop is losing money, hiring somebody makes no sense.” ”Perhaps,” she retorted, “but it’s not just about the money at the end of the day, “it’s about providing a service to the community.” I took a few moments in order to keep my hot-headed Italian temper from boiling over and (and lunging over the counter at her) and said, “yes, well, the community isn’t paying for the service, I am,” and I handed her a receipt. “But thanks for your comments anyway” (otherwise interpreted as you can get your scrawny ass out of here). She took her cue and left but not before reminding me why I wouldn’t feel so bad when the doors finally closed and I was not longer obliged to put up with this ‘type’ of person ever again.
But the question was, what to do with the space next? We talked about all sorts of things. My mother was actually crazy enough to consider a coffee shop, she obviously wasn’t that keen on my pole dancing club idea. Although my sister and I did have a good laugh spreading rumours that this was exactly what we were going to do next. Yes, I know it was evil but we had to do something to distract us from those few who’d actually have the audacity of coming into the store and asking, “so, who will be taking over from you when you leave?” NOBODY! The shop is part of our home, you dopes! Nobody will be taking over. As Michael Jackson said, “this is it.” No more drifting down in your slippers and pyjamas for bacon and the newspaper, no more quibbling over your overcharge of 1p, no more… and it was then that we pretty much concluded that we couldn’t ever work with the public again. No, it was clear, the shop should no longer be a shop, in fact, it shouldn’t be anything for the general public, it should just be a place for us. It would become a new dining room. Somewhere we could entertain our large Italian family, and our friends. But this would require a major remodel of the space….oh well, I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge…and so it began…
The Village Store is dead, now what?
When I moved into my new home six years ago, I inherited a grocery store. By inherited, I mean the place was attached to my home! So, if you’d asked me (or anybody I know) a few years earlier if I would be interested in playing postmaster and shopkeeping, you would have been laughed at.
Despite this, my family and I spent Christmas 2004 working on a tired, run down and rather grim looking village store. We installed a new till
system, laminate flooring and we ‘liberated’ some beautiful bay windows (that had been hidden behind hideous old shelving). After a lot of grafting, we met my self impose deadline of three days and opened a new, fresh, modern village store selling a variety of things such as tobacco, confectionery, groceries, newspapers, magazines (including a popular home delivery service), bill payments, postal service, etcetera. Look, I even have the photo to prove it! (Yes that’s me, complete with bushy eyebrows) in the traditional pose preferred by local press.
Happy day? Well, it was certainly was a satisfying day as we’d all worked very hard to turn the place into our vision of what a quaint village store should be, and I think we achieved that, at least that’s the feedback we received from many of our customers who were amazed with the dramatic change.
Over the next year we contemplated whether or not to keep the the post office that came with the store but over much deliberation we decided that it, along with The Post Office Ltd’s compulsory rules and regulations, was not a viable option.
And the prefabricated post office booth was removed from the premises invoking yet another refurbishment.
Here's a taster!
A new counter was installed and along with it came a new hot oven and cake displaying paraphernalia. I spoke to my Mother and Sister, both of whom are excellent cooks, and asked if they’d be interested in baking a little extra of they yummy dishes for our customers. They agreed and, not before long, the ‘Mamma Anna’ brand of breads, pizzas and panzerotti was born.
The ‘Mamma Anna’ line was complimented by a mouth watering array of home baked cakes, courtesy of my beloved sister, Francesca, featuring some old school favourites, such as fudge and cornflake tart. ’The Home of Home Baking’ soon became the talk of the neighbourhood and we regularly served new customers who visited the store simply because they had been told about the good food. Naturally, these were welcome comments for my mother and sister who both had to get up at the crack of dawn to get the food ready for the early morning rush. In my sister’s case, it was also before getting in a car and off to work!
And so this was our life for nearly six years. I wanted a home and ended up inheriting a village store which proved to be a lifeline for many of the villager residents and, of course, the lazy so and sos who couldn’t be bothered to get in the car and drive into town for their daily paper.
But it’s true what they say; it takes all sorts. And we certainly met a variety of people. Some wonderful, warm people and some not so warm but often, I believed, perhaps needed a bit more in their lives. Yes, you know who you are.
Eventually, the recession bit and belts were tightened. To make matters worse, I found myself pumping more of my own cash into the store just to keep it going. The store had become an integral part of the community and I kept shying away from the thought of being the one to close it. However, we were all making a lot of sacrifices and for what? I had to draw the line somewhere, and I did. 2010 brought with it the realisation that the shop was way too much work than it was worth and in May I decided to close the doors. I drafted a letter to all our newspapers account customers and posted relevant notices in the store. I’d made up my mind the only question was, what happens next?
