The Hollister Experience

Doubtless you'll be glad to know that the condition of Mersey Street has not improved for cyclists since my last journey. It is a notable example of Roads Disservice handiwork.

Well I donned several layers of heavy clothes, including the weighty British Warm overcoat, and mounted the trusty two-wheeler for the trip into Belfast.

Having done a spot of research at the venerable old Linenhall Library, I walked across the streets to Sawers delicatessen in College Street, where I purchased some rashers of streaky smoked bacon, hand-carved. I requested that it be sliced extra thinly, because I favour my streaky bacon very crisp.

At Victoria Square shopping centre I wandered about rather aimlessly, till I encountered a curious shop, ostensibly nameless, with a queue of people outside.

I spoke to a lady opposite and asked her if this was Hollinger's new store. Yes, it was. My pal Mairi had told me about it, though I couldn't get its name quite correct.

A glutton for punishment and with a little time to spare, I boldly joined the queue. Then I noticed their name just above the ground: Hollister Co.

For those readers who are unaware of Hollister, it is a division of Abercrombie and Fitch, originally designed to attract consumers aged 14–18, at a lower price point than the parent brand, through its SoCal-inspired image and casual wear.

I had to wait for seven or eight minutes till I was permitted to enter. Hollister has successfully created a certain image for itself, I'll grant them that. I ambled round the store, getting a feel for it.

Whilst Timothy Belmont would not be averse to being kitted out in their apparel, I feel I'd need a lady beside me for guidance. Dressed in my heavy overcoat, scarf, gloves and Trilby hat, I felt more like a protagonist in Downton Abbey than a preppy Californian teenager. Ha!