Why I'll miss Edinburgh's Poundland, even though I've only just visited

This store might be on its way out soon, so I took a trip

I didn’t know how to react when I heard the flagging chain, Poundland, was closing up to 150 stores in the UK, after, ironically, selling for £1 to investment firm Gordon Brothers.

Since I’ve never been to a branch, I felt sad for the employees, but impassive otherwise.

A Poundland aisle | Contributed

Still, as I have a single pound coin that’s been burning a hole in my pocket, I thought it was time to make my inaugural visit.

I like a bargain as much as the next woman. Scratch that. I NEED bargains. Let’s see what I’ve been missing.

Thus, I head to the Edinburgh Lothian Road store, which is one of four in the capital and 57 in Scotland. Don’t panic, as this shop might not be going anywhere, as it’s not yet clear which of their branches will be shutting.

My first thought is this occupies the spot that, many moons ago, was the location for Woolworths and their formidable pick-and-mix selection.

That destination is so seared into my memory that I feel as if I’m developing a psychosomatic mouth ulcer while reminiscing over their sandpapery-surfaced cola cubes.

It’s also on the same block as another ‘variety store’, the independent Ali’s Cave, which has been there for 44 years and has also recently announced its closure. Maybe it’s a sign of the times. We can blame Amazon, and probably Shein and Temu, too.

Anyway, first impressions of Poundland aren’t great. It’s not quite as forbidding as Count Dracula’s castle, but I feel as if I’m channelling my inner Mary Portas, when weighing up the kerb appeal.

The window is being used as storage for trolleys full of litre bottles of primary-coloured fizzy pop, rather than a tempting showcase to display their finest objects.

As soon as you enter, you’re faced with a wall of Pot Noodles. My kryptonite, since I’m probably the only person in the world who isn’t a fan of this instant snack.

The staff, dressed in the same colours, seem lovely though, with Happy to Help emblazoned on the back of their uniforms. I’m sure they would be, though I might just be browsing today. We’ll see.

It’s definitely a store of the ilk that became popular in the Nineties.

I can see why they might have been shuffled out of the market by stores like Aldi and Lidl. Those retailers are affordable, yes, but they’ve invested in the store design and usually have muzak playing, and lots of natural light. This place is less of a retail experience, really.

Still, once you can see past that, it’s really not so bad. It obviously has a fan club.

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I’m surprised by how many shoppers are here. Since you can’t see inside from the street, or the top deck of the number 10 bus, I always assumed it was deserted. On a Tuesday morning, there are at least five browsers, and quite a few at the self checkout.

As far as products go, they have SO much.

Blame Woolworths flash-backs, but I am very much enjoying the sweetie aisle.

There are no kola-cubes but they do have bags of my present-day Achilles heel - Galaxy Minstrels for just £1.50. Get in. And boxes of Maltesers for the same price.

If I’d known, I would’ve got along here earlier. They even have bags of Turkish Delight minis. As the only person in the world who doesn’t like instant noodles, but does still loves these rose-scented chocolate-coated retro delights, I haven’t seen these fun sizes anywhere else, but here.

Also, every type of Haribo and Skittles available under the sun, all for £1 a bag. And a strange sort of sweet called Chooeee. I wonder if they’re yumeee or spewee. This area is the best bit.

The rest of the store is slightly less inspiring

At the back, I get my first look at their own clothing range, Pepco.

Everything is bargain-basement priced and pretty neutral, apart from the £10 handbag with Minnie Mouse on it, and the t-shirts that are emblazoned with a heart and the words “love your self”. Shouldn’t that be two words, rather than three? Never mind, the sentiment is there. This would be a good place to get basics, like leggings or tights, and there are loads of colourful kids’ clothes.

They also sell their own versions of Crocs. Let’s call them mock-crocs. There are square holes, rather than round ones, and they’re only £4. Not for me, as I wouldn’t be seen dead in these colander-like shoes, but I’m in the minority (again).

There are seven packs of socks for £3. I don’t know if they’re 100 per cent cotton or not. They probably are, but, even if not, I’d risk the athlete’s foot for 42p per sock.

The other aisles sell all manner of homeware on the cheap. There is one that has toothpaste and stacks of other branded toiletries. Another features garden stuff.

Across the shop floor, I find rain ponchos for £1.50, hand-towels for £1.75, padlocks for £1 that may or may not invalidate your home insurance, frozen and fresh food, a water ball catapult for £2, and £3 washing powder. I pick up three of those hand-towels.

They’ve got pet stuff, and a patriotic box of Scott’s Porridge Oats for a quid.

This store might lack aesthetic value, but it certainly has plenty of redeeming qualities. Let’s hope it’s going to stick around. If not, I better start stockpiling chocolate. And socks.