I remember, growing up in a small Northern market town, there was an independent card shop that,…read moreweirdly, sold a range of 'naughty' items. Like a provincial Ann Summers with a section for bereavement cards. It was really weird, looking back, that they had pink riding crops hanging alongside the Forever Friends mugs, but I guess it's just part of the charm of it having been an independent business. That shop serviced the town's needs for cards and second-rate erotic merchandise until the long-vacant Motor World shop got a make over. A Clinton Cards makeover. The local people were predictably outraged and the independent card shop decided to up their game. They painted the entire exterior of their little shop Pepto-Bismol pink and did mail-outs about the evil of Clinton Cards. It was all a bit mad really. Me, I wasn't that fussed as I was banned from the independent card shop at the age of 12 for unsuccessfully shoplifting a strawberry-scented gel pen, so I was glad that finally there would be a place where, if I so wished, I could buy cards without fear of being arrested. Of course, once I saw the homogenised crap that Clinton Cards sell, I was no more heartened.
And a good ten years later, Clinton Cards is still totally rubbish. And their Arndale store is pretty much the worst place in the world. For a start, it is always messy. Not in a fun and kooky boutique kind of way, I like that kind of messy. It's messy in a way that seems to suggest that, gasp, Clinton Cards don't care about the shoppers and their experience. Thusly, instead of having wrapping paper, ribbons and gift tags all together while cards are over there somewhere, they seem to have organised everything into 'themes'. So you have your cutesy crap (Tatty Teddy etc), your tarty crap (wrapping paper with shoes on, and bits of diamante and feather boa on everything), your psychedelic crap (it's crap, and it's psychedelic...what more can I say?) and then, a very small corner for dad crap (any manly type stuff; brown paper and cards with labradors on them). Wandering round looking for plain crepe paper, I was struck by the ugliness and weirdness of all the Clinton crap. Witness; a card in the tarty crap section, depicting a pair of sexy legs in stilettos. Who am I gonna buy that ugly piece of crap for? A man who likes legs? No. A girl who...has legs? No. Useless.
As well as being confusingly laid out and messy, this branch of Clinton Cards has some of the rudest staff I have ever experienced. But even if they treated me like a Maharajah, there's still no way I'm going back here. You need a card? Go to Paperchase or Oklahoma, or make one yourself. You need a wine-bottle-box with a bra on it? Come to Clinton Cards...