Fur & Fortune Department Store

Blog

  • Notice From The Complaints Room

    The Complaints Room, which has stood on the First Floor since 1905, wishes to announce that it has received 1,412 complaints this year, of which 1,409 concerned the temperature of the milk. The remaining three concerned a pigeon, a draught, and the shocking absence of a second chair.

    The Complaints Officer, Mr. Hubert Grumbleton, wishes to thank each correspondent for their trouble and assure them that every letter has been read, sighed over, and filed. The milk will remain at its present temperature. The pigeon has been spoken to. The second chair is on order and will arrive when the first one is satisfied.

  • A Day In The Life Of Mr. Alfred Clank, Porter

    The day of Mr. Clank begins at 5:15, when he rises from his cot in the boiler room, brushes his coat, and says good morning to the radiators. By 6:00 he has polished the great door. By 7:00 he has swept the steps. By 8:00 he has deflected three delivery lorries, two pigeons, and a persistent bishop.

    At noon, he lunches upon a single sardine and a hard biscuit. At half past two, he rests, upright, on his stool by the door, perfectly still, like a statue of a statue. He has not, in thirty four years, been seen to blink. Many believe him to be an elaborate piece of furniture. He has never contradicted them.

  • A Welcome To The Autumn Collection

    Ladies, Gentlemen and Distinguished Felines, September is upon us, and with it the Autumn Collection. Be assured that every window, from the Ground Floor Perfumery to the Fifth Floor Tea Room, has been arranged to echo the colours of the turning leaf: russet, ochre, and a bold shade of burnt biscuit.

    Fur and Fortune is delighted to present an array of woollens, wraps, and warm things, including the new Duchess Collar in lined velvet and the Tuftington Throw, woven from the wool of a hundred contented sheep. Be warned: the Autumn Sale queue forms early and has been known to wrap twice around the block. Bring a flask, a friend, and a sense of occasion.

  • The Toy Department Prepares For The Autumn Rush

    Upon the Fourth Floor, the Toy Department is aglow. Mr. Percival Pennywhistle, Toymaster, has unpacked seven hundred feathered wands, three hundred clockwork mice, and a rocking horse of such improbable size that it requires its own staircase.

    The Toy Department’s pride this season is the Mechanical Mouse Number 9, which scuttles for exactly eleven seconds before expiring with a faint, apologetic click. It is priced at 7 treats and has a waiting list. Children and kittens are welcome to view the display. Adults are also welcome, though they must pretend they are buying for someone else.

  • A Tribute To The Brass Revolving Door

    It is with solemn pride that I pay homage to the brass revolving door at the entrance of this establishment. It has turned some seven million times since 1904, admitted an estimated three hundred thousand cats, and delivered, on one famous Tuesday, a very confused hedgehog.

    The door bears the scars of its service: a paw print here, a scratch there, a tuft of ginger fur in the hinge. Our porter, Mr. Alfred Clank, polishes it daily with a cloth he refers to as ‘Her Majesty’. If you pause in the doorway, you may hear it creak a short, complicated sigh. It is the sound of a very old friend.

  • The Perfumery Reports A Scandal Of Scents

    Madame Odette Violette, who presides over the Perfumery, reports with some distress that one of her bottles, labelled ‘Dawn Over Kippers’, has been mixed with a bottle of ‘Evening in the Cupboard’. The result, she says, is a scent that makes a cat think of fish in a cellar at midnight, and then regret everything.

    The mixture has been named ‘Regrettable Harbour’ and is being sold at 9 treats a phial, because it is somehow selling out. Madame Violette says this is the first time a mistake has been profitable. She plans to make more by accident. Patrons are advised to sniff from a distance of two feet and to consult a doctor if their whiskers curl.

  • Floorwalker’s Notice: On The Matter Of The Sleeping Customer

    A notice from Sir Reginald Tuftington, Floorwalker. It has come to his attention that a customer, whom he shall not name but who is a large ginger, has fallen asleep upon the Chesterfield in the Furniture Hall for a period exceeding seven hours. He has not purchased the Chesterfield. He has merely lain upon it in a manner that suggests title.

    Sir Reginald wishes to say that the store welcomes rest, but does not offer permanent tenancy. A small card has been placed upon the sleeper’s chest. It reads: ‘We trust you are comfortable. We require you to buy something.’ The ginger has not woken. Sir Reginald has gone for tea.

  • A Brief History Of The Pneumatic Tube

    Ladies and Gentlemen, there lies behind the Information Desk a mechanism of extraordinary ingenuity: the Pneumatic Tube. Installed in 1906 at a cost of £340, it conveys canisters of paper at the astonishing speed of twenty eight feet per second to every department in the building.

    Over its long life the Tube has carried receipts, requisitions, a single small kipper, and, on one famous occasion, a young apprentice named Wilfred who had climbed inside to retrieve a toy mouse. He arrived in Haberdashery looking pleased and slightly flattened. The Tube is still in use. The mouse is on display in the Atrium.

  • The Grand August Sale Commences

    Hear ye, hear ye! The Grand August Sale begins at the stroke of nine tomorrow morning. Prepare yourselves, distinguished patrons, for reductions of such magnitude that the Ground Floor ledger has been moved to a safe.

    Collars at a third off. Cushions at a quarter off. Bells, bows and curious items in the Odds and Ends Basket at whatever price the Floorwalker feels like on the day. Doors will open to an orderly queue, formed by 7:30, and managed by a cat in a braided coat with a megaphone. Please do not push, nor yowl, nor attempt to enter by the delivery chute.

  • Lost Property: A Miscellany

    The Lost Property Office, a small room behind the Ladies’ Mantles, wishes to report a surprising harvest this quarter. We have recovered fourteen umbrellas, nine left gloves, one monocle, three false whiskers, a pocket watch that runs nineteen minutes slow, and a ball of wool that appears to have been in a fight.

    Owners may claim their effects by presenting themselves at the Lost Property Counter with a description and a mildly guilty expression. The false whiskers have been claimed by none, and we respectfully suggest that anyone who wore them in July should come forward without shame. We have all been there. We have all been on the third floor in a rush.