Emily Benet

Search for a word or phrase in this book …

Biographical note:  Emily Benet was born in London to a Welsh mother and Spanish father. Inspired by Brian Jacques’ ‘Redwall’ series, she spent much of her childhood writing stories about talking field mice. Later she discovered Point Horror books and co-wrote ‘Evil Eyes’ with a school friend which she self-published in her exercise book. She moved to Barcelona at 13 where she won her first significant prize for writing and was published in a short story collection. After gaining her A-levels and Spanish Baccalaureate she accepted a place on the highly acclaimed English and Creative Writing Bachelor course at East Anglia, where all the writers wore stripy tights. Unfortunately she didn’t like stripy tights, neither was she enamored by Norfolk’s flat landscape and windy weather. She returned to South East London determined to write a novel. She tried out different jobs; she taught English in a language school, made a terrible secretary in an estate agents and temped in a catering firm. In the end she went to work in her Mum’s chandelier shop. It was in the shop, amid the chaos of crystal beads and confusing customers that she began her Shop Girl Blog. Emily’s short stories have won awards, been selected for readings and are published online. She has a Diploma in Journalism but knows her first love will always be fiction.

BIC Basic

EAN13:  9781844717194
ISBN:  9781844717194
Author:  Emily Benet
Title:  Shop Girl Diaries
Series:  Anthologies and Gift Books
Product class:  BC
Language:  eng
Audience:  General/trade
BIC subject category:  CVL
Publisher:  Salt Publishing
Pub date:  01-Dec-09
Extent:  256pp
Height:  156 mm
Width:  156 mm
Thickness:  18 mm
Weight:  384 gms
Supplier:   Gardners Books
Supplier:   Ingram Book Group
Supplier:   Inbooks (James Bennett)
Availability:  NP
Price:  GBP 9.99
Price:  USD 15.95
Rights:  World

Short description/annotation:  Shop Girl Diaries are the scribblings of Emily, a 24 year old would be writer, working in her Mum’s chandelier shop in south east London. Her large following of quirky customers provides ample fuel for her hilarious diary; alongside which she tells of her own adventures and unfolding romance.

Main description:  “The new It-Girl, Emily Benet, does for chandeliers what Bridget Jones did for publishing”

Shoppers, suitors and chandeliers make up Emily Benet’s comic world. Selling light bulbs in her mother’s London shop conceals her burning ambition to become a writer. Till-side accounts of the general public’s desire for retail therapy and light switches form the backdrop to Benet’s well-lit tour of the credit crunch, as the shop faces closure and the real life transition from retail assistant to published writer all comes true, with some salsa dancing thrown in for good measure.

Charming, scatty and endearing, Benet’s diary reveals more about Britain’s current climate than diamante fittings might suggest. This new book is an adaptation of Benet’s hugely popular Shop Girl Blog and already has thousands saying she’s the new Bridget Jones, but with one difference: she’s a real life shop assistant in a very real shop.

In a uniquely quirky account Benet tells us about being young, having literary dreams and loving lamps. The independent lighting shop is the co-star of this tale, as mother and daughter try to close down but just can’t seem to manage it due to a loyal following of colourful and bizarre customers.

Emily’s writing is simultaneously bittersweet, laugh out loud funny and impossibly moreish — luckily the ‘Shop Girl Diary’ is handbag-sized so you’ll never have to be without it. With specially-commissioned short films and an enormous Facebook push this gift book is the perfect Christmas gift for anyone who shops and anyone who doesn’t.

Table of contents:
June
July
August
September
October
November
December
January
February
March
April
May

View excerpt as PDF:

Click here to view a sample (83 KB)

Excerpt from book:  

Monday 13th April

A Mrs Winks came in to pay the balance and collect her chandelier.

I didn’t recognise her and checked the date on her receipt.

“2001!” I gasped.

“Yes, it’s been a while.”

“Eight years.”

“Yes, something like that.”

“No, it has, it’s been eight years.”

“I wasn’t feeling well.”

I got on the phone to Mum, who directed me to her light which was still packed and ready to go.

I expect she would’ve left it another 8 years if it hadn’t been for our Closing sign.

Mrs Winks is a record but there are plenty of other customers who disappear for long periods of time mid payment.

Like Mr Francis who came this afternoon wanting another light for his house in Ghana.

He’s still paying off for the last one after four months.

It’s in the backroom in a plastic bag.

Mr Francis is a small, jumpy man with a voice that scratches your eardrums. Not someone you want to get stuck in a lift with.

My heart sank as the routine haggling began. I hadn’t had a cup of tea in hours and felt the familiar stirrings of my inner monster.

The chandelier he was after was already a bargain at #199

“Come on, I’m a good customer!” he said.

It’s funny how the bad customers say they are good customers and the good customers say nothing.

“There’s already a hundred quid off that light.”

“Aaaah!” he cried. “I want my discount!”

“185 is the lowest I’ll go.”

“Come on!”

“You’ve got a good thing going here,” I said firmly. “Where else do you get the luxury of paying when you want?”

“Give me it for #150.”

“Nope.”

Connie walked in with her trolley. My dream of a cup of tea dried up.

“I’ve come from the doctors,” she announced and waved a hand over her swollen belly. “They say I’ve got estra .?.?. estro .?.?. something or other.”

“Oh,” I said, looking at Mr Francis, who was fidgeting in front of the chandelier. “That’s not good.”

“They’re waiting for the results. Here, look at my list of pills.”

She took out some papers from her hand bag and showed me them.

“Come on, how much?” Mr Francis said, feeling neglected.

“185.”

He whined.

Connie looked him up and down with mild disgust.

I felt awkward. Customers shouldn’t barter in front of each other.

“I bring the list so I don’t have to bring the pill boxes. I can’t be bothered with all that,” she continued. “And I never remember the names of them, do I?”

I needed Mr Francis to make up his mind. I felt like I was being crushed between two heavy boxes.

“Light that one for me,” he said, pointing at a different chandelier.

Please? I thought.

I bashed the ladder against the counter as I brought it out.

“What is it?” Connie said, turning her attention to my agitated customer. She pointed at his original choice. “Between that one and the one she’s lighting?”

Mr Francis stepped from one foot to the other and nodded his head.

I stood at the top of the ladder and plugged the cables into the tester.

The chandelier lit up.

It was a bit dusty and didn’t sparkle as much as it could’ve.

“THAT ONE,” she said, pointing back at the first one.

He looked at her with sudden interest.

“Yes, you think? Okay I’ll have it.”

I was gobsmacked. I wanted to give Connie a hug.

Mr Francis handed over a deposit for it and I got the receipt book.

“180,” he said.

I wrote #185.

“What a cheek,” she said, after he’d left.

“Yes, the things I have to put up with,” and I settled into a rhythm of crystal pinning while she told me all about the set of saucepans she’d sent off for and the free oven gloves that came with them.