IN distance terms, Lush, the handmade cosmetics shop, and the Brand Centre, which sells leisure clothes bearing those more sought-after labels, are only yards apart, facing each other as they do in Cornmarket Street. But that’s all they have in common.

A week ago, Lush reopened after a refit and, according to the manager, public reaction has been outstanding. (The till has also rung a tune to delight accountants.) Meanwhile across the road, the Brand Centre endured its last day on Wednesday; its lease had come to an end.

Shoppers combed through the racks hoping for bargains while pop music blasted out in a vain effort to make it seem less like a wake. You couldn’t blame the staff for failing to display their customary happy smiles.

“Are you fixed up with another job?” I asked one of the assistants. She sadly shook her head. Tears didn’t seem far away. I can only hope her luck changes soon.

  • WHILE cyclists were poised ready for the off around the roadworks in High Street – they were obeying the large board which read ‘Cyclists must obey traffic signals’ with the word ‘must’ in letters larger than the rest – in Bonn Square crowds were treated to an impromptu display by a young man on a stunt bike. Apparently it is a regular performance.

He skirted the benches which he negotiated with surprising skill, and the war memorial before leaping into mid-air, spinning himself and machine through 360 degrees while clearing the flight of steps before coming to earth among the crowd.

Skilful? Without question – as is the probability of an accident unless someone acquaints him of the folly of his stunts.

  • THE young woman, blonde-haired, elegant and immaculately dressed, was not afforded universal approval in the Bhs cafe. Sitting at the next table, a small girl, who recently celebrated her fourth birthday, frowned before loudly announcing: “She’s got a bogeyman on her nose!” “Shush,” said mum. “Don’t be rude.”

“But she has,” insisted the girl. “Look!”

The young woman smiled at the child before putting down her cup and removing a black piece of face furniture from the septum of her nose. Mum tried to apologise, but the young woman stopped her.

“I thought it looked fine, but it takes a child to tell the truth,” she said.

  • FINALLY, a reminder – if one is necessary – that Sunday is Mother’s Day, the occasion on which mums of all ages, shapes and sizes rightly expect a card and a bunch of flowers.

Two of my grandsons, Charlie, seven, and Eddie, five, fresh from a brainwashing on the subject at school, dragged their dad to the florists in midweek, after extracting a promise that they could choose the flowers.

He’s not one to go back on his word, but I wonder what mum’s reaction will be to the Venus fly trap she’ll get on Sunday morning.