London may be open, but not to Scottish bank notes

On 6 November I awoke to hear the news about America’s next President. Even the weather looked unhappy about the result, with a low and heavy angry grey sky and a confiscated sun.

After a rant that would have sliced through house bricks, I hauled my sunken-ship moody self to an appointment on Finchley Road. The person I spoke to at the appointment didn’t seem interested in this news. “It doesn’t affect me,” she said, which I felt like a sting for all womankind.

With my head low, like every other West Hampstead head, I sloped down to West End Lane to walk back to the Tube. On the way I noticed some good-looking charity shops, four in a row to be precise, so I decided on a quick visit to check out the bargains, try to give back. Once I give back I’ll feel better, I thought.

I’m an avid fan of chazza shops, being environmentally conscious but the real truth is it’s because they’re fantastic for one-off pieces.

There are two terrific pre-loved clothes shops in Willesden High Road (I’m giving away my secrets here, but…). One is St Luke’s and the other is Peaceful Solutions. Last year, I bought a cool little jacket, £6, which I’ve seen no one else wearing and gets lots of “where did you get that jacket?” questions.

I also bought some very nice flared cords, £4, which I adjusted to my length with a needle and thread guided by my mother’s voice in my head. One time, the St Luke’s shoe rack had a pair of gold Jimmy Choo’s and I know I couldn’t have been the only woman trying to squeeze my size fours into those work-of-art size threes that day, “just to check”, like a charity shop ugly sister.

Inside Scope on West End Lane I found a smart black coat with a very cool square button at the top, a perfect fit, £15, and worth it, just for the detail on the pockets. I approached the till with a Scottish £20 note. “No, sorry we can’t take that,” she said. “But it’s legal tender,” I replied. “I’m acting under orders from the owner,” she came back. “We can’t take Scottish notes.”

There was nothing I could do. With my earlier morning rage still fuming, I quietly decided there was no way I was going to pay by card. Humiliation #1. I left the shop and chatted with a woman outside who had a dog and had heard the whole thing. She too was outraged. “It’s ridiculous!” she spouted. “What kind of country are we living in? What is the world coming to? This country!” Quite, Mrs.

London doesn’t like a Scottish note and never has, despite it being pounds sterling and perfectly legal. Why, I have no idea. That was about the five millionth time it had happened to me, and if the shop won’t take it, there’s nothing I can do about it.

Onwards to the Tube. I’ll stop off at Willesden, I thought, now that I need and want a coat to make me feel better. Inside Peaceful Solutions there was a very nice black trench, lovely stitching, on sale, down from £16 to £8 (was it ever £16?) and after a try-on, I decided yes, I’ll get it.

Up for Humiliation #2? The lovely and very apologetic assistant on the till was not for taking the Scottish £20, also “under orders” from the owner. I wandered down to Barclays, where they refused to change any notes for me because I didn’t have an account with that bank. Humiliation #3. From there I headed to Humiliation #4 at Post Office, which also refused to change the notes. “We can’t take them, there have been some forgeries with Scottish notes and we’re not allowed to accept any.”

“I can assure you these are not fraudulent and I am not a forger.” His reply was a hands-up shrug.

I really should have gone home then, but by this point, I was on a rage mission, fuelled by that morning’s news.

I got back onto the Tube to go to Kilburn and the HSBC. Once there, I removed any Scottish notes from my person and deposited them into my account. I then returned to Peaceful Solutions and bought the coat with an English tenner while a man decided if he was going to pay £4 for a small guitar and a woman hemmed and hawed over some Barbie roller skates.

With the coat now in my bag I caught sight and smell from The Big Bite chippy near Willesden Green station and realised I hadn’t eaten anything, so I nipped in for a bag of good old proper Great British chips. I put my hand in my pocket to discover that a rebel Scottish note had escaped the bank deposit. I thought I’d ask, one last time, preparing for Humiliation #5 in my favourite local.

“Yes,” said the nice chip shop owner. “Of course, we accept Scottish notes. I don’t know why some shops don’t.” My heart did a little butterfly, and instead of getting just chips ordered their vegan battered sausage, a new line, and curry sauce as well.

Whilst waiting, I opened my phone to see an arresting cartoon image of the next President holding the Statue of Liberty intimately. It caught me, and I gasped at such a bullseye depiction.

“Is he in then, for sure?” asked the chip boss.

“Oh, he’s in. It’s just…criminal.”

“They’re all criminals,” he said, as he scooped my chips into a bag.

Julie Hamill writes novels, appears on Times Radio and does lots, lots more. Follow her on X/Twitter. Support OnLondon.co.uk and its writers for just £5 a month or £50 a year and get things for your money too. Details HERE.

Related