Yeah, we all know we're heading towards a complete socio-economic collapse, yadda yadda yadda, crunching credit, blah blah blah, fighting for horsemeat in the streets, etc. etc. etc. But while Americans are boiling orphans down into gasoline substitutes, things here in England are looking up. After all, Woolworths, the shittiest of hell-shops has shut down. Huzzah! OK, so lots of people have lost their jobs, but if I were given the choice of selling myself to Gangmasters or working in consumerism’s dribbling arsehole I’d take cockle picking any day, so don't feel too bad for them. Woolworths became so nasty that even though I lived five minutes away from the Kentish Town branch for 25 years, bought my Super Nintendo from there when I was ten, and still have a photo of me and my first girlfriend's first kiss taken in the passport photo-booth, I still can't think about the place without wishing I'd been able to blow a couple of branches up before they shut them down. They were truly horrible. Every store was a huge and sad white box, under-populated by stock, piping in Basshunter and staffed by manic-depressives. Yesterday we went to gawp at the death of this miserable old bastard of the high street. Amazingly, it didn't look any more depressing than it had last time I went in to buy a light bulb and only found a hundred Lee Evans DVDs.