The Emporium of Illusions (1/8) By Andy Bilton

(1/8), (2/8), (3/8), (4/8), (5/8), (6/8), (7/8), (8/8).

I cannot decide which foam bath to put in to the tub. Mood, I feel, is an important player in a first date situation and I do not want to fold at the first hand by getting in to the wrong one before tonight's encounter. So do I pour in some of the Marks & Spencers 'Tranquility' that has an unnerving resemblance to Rowntree's Lime Jelly and 'treat myself to an indulgent bathing experience, enhanced with essential oils to help stimulate my body and mind, allowing me to unwind and leaving my skin feeling soft and smooth' or will it be some of Safeway's own that's purported to be Alpine Fresh but has an aroma not dissimilar to that of Domestos in a toilet bowl?

Were I to mix the two, would I feel relaxed and soft and smooth and lively and fresh all at the same time or would I find myself going through intermittent spells during the course of the night, having patches of relaxation followed by phases of freshness, like the sun bursting through the clouds after a shower on an August day? Then I remember that I have some Calvin Klein bath essence, a Christmas present from Aunty Betty, in the bathroom cabinet and I seem to recall reading somewhere that George Clooney uses Calvin Klein products and I picture George playing Seth Gecko in From Dusk Till Dawn and my problem is solved.

As I switch off the taps and step into the water - which prickles my feet like standing barefoot on stinging nettles - I wonder if Michelle goes for the George Clooney type. But I wouldn't or couldn't know.

The place where she works is on my daily route. First point of interest if I go clockwise. Last pit stop if I travel counter-clockwise. Certain shops have a tendency to draw me to them as I am walking by. In much the same way as the edge of a curtain or the corner of rug is captured by an unruly, unrestrained, vacuum cleaner hose so I find myself being sucked in. Along with The Virgin Mega Store, The Zen Home Cinema Shop and Macy's Video Arcade, Michelle's place of work is one such retail establishment It is in a small Victorian arcade off a main road in the heart of the city centre. Stepping in to the arcade from the bustling street is an unsettling experience and always puts me in mind of the T.V. programme Quantum Leap.

The one where the guy finishes each episode being transported instantly from one place and time, through a worm hole in space, along the space time continuum, to another totally different time and place and he has to adapt instantly to his displacement.

The floor is of polished marble and always seems bright and white and clean, especially when the sun is pouring through the clear glass ceiling, creating the mood of a huge antique greenhouse and as exterior sound in a greenhouse seems muffled, so the roar of the traffic from the main road is but a distant mumble within the sanctuary of the arcade. Sandwiched between the specialist electrical retailer - that sells chrome plated Hi-Fi's for three times what I used to earn in a month - and the ladies exotic underwear shop, is the joke shop, or, as is proclaimed on the sign above it, in flaking, scrolling, gold lettering on a burgundy background; 'Binnington's Emporium of Illusions'.

I had not been in before last Wednesday. I had for a long time just been a watcher, a casual admirer, a window shopper. I would buy myself a sandwich from the delicatessen, also in the arcade, and take a place at the large expanse of glass that was the joke shop window.

Continued...Next Page (2/8)

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