Ravaged racks of clothes, and department after department raked over to the bare bone, bore no resemblance to the glory that once was Jops.

It was as if in its last throes, the very air in the store was stale.
How sweet it once was to shop in what was a truly family store – kitting you out literally from the cradle to the grave.

Now it's like a junk shop, desperately clinging on, waiting for its fate to be sealed – one way or the other.

In the ninth week of its closing down sale, the devastation that has been wrought here is as devastating as the fact that if it closes, Sunderland loses its last bastion of a department store.

Debenhams isn't a proper department store – it's a fashion and beauty nook. And if Jops does go, for a city not to have a department store is disgraceful.

No wonder the loyal Jops customers have been crying in despair at where they will go for their Eastex, Windsmoor and Jacques Vert.

Then there's the golden oldies who are lost off at where they'll get their big pants, brassieres, corsets and all-in-ones?

And where will the blue rinse brigade go for their morning coffee or the regulars for their Saturday morning fry-up and cup of tea in decent surroundings?

Since Owen Owen took over the heart went out of the store and it has gone down hill ever since.

Surrounded by "Up to 60% off" closing down signs, I trawled the shop for real bargains.

Yes, I got some – beaded cushions, fur-trimmed lingerie, a satin set and a sequinned chiffon scarf, all for £50.

But you have to search and don't run away with the idea that they're giving all the stuff away, because they aren't.

A lot will go back to the concession houses if it shuts and while there's half-price carpets, snips in lingerie, accessories and 30 per cent off certain cosmetics, this Closing Down Sale appears to be a golden opportunity for offloading a lot of gear that's been brought in specially. I've never seen so much luggage.

What a crying shame. That's why the regulars are crying. They are mourning a store they could depend on for personal service, the familair assistants they counted as friends.

Its dated, old-fashioned style and matching service held an appeal for those who, like me, still mourn the proper stores I grew up with in Sunderland when the East End was a thriving community and High Street was blessed with Liverpool House, Blacketts and Kennedys, as well as that wonderful posh shop Jane Jones.

And in all these shops there were seats to rest your weary legs and you were served.

All you hear now is:"If it's not out we haven't got it." And if they have it's just shoved into a carrier bag.

I've loved Jops since I was a kid playing with its very own money, and on the wooden slide between the hat department and childrenswear which went up in flames in the 1954 inferno.

Here, working for the Echo, I toured the Harrogate Lingerie Show with the Joplings lingerie buyer for years – the only male in the business in the region.

It was a job my husband Tony loved, photographing the wonderful, statuesque model girls in their bras and knickers for our paper.

Like a lot of the old faces, the buyer went when the new owners took over. On the fashion floor – my favourite haunt – I met Pat Hoey, fashion manager, and Andrea Foster, her assistant. I've known them both for years and they know their customers are devastated.

Both are staying positive that a new owner will be found given two possible buyers are in talks.

Andrea spoke for them both: "And if we get a buyer we'll come in and slap some paint on. We aren't proud. Anything to keep this store open."
You see, this wouldn't just be a shop closing but the end of an institution and a 200-year era.

It would be the final curtain in our fair city for a much-loved store and, just like Grace Brothers in television's Are You Being Served?, I know you'd never find its ilk again.

And I wonder how many couples have fallen in love after a first date, meeting outside Joplings.

If you are one, give me a call on 5017297 or email linda.colling@northeast-press.co.uk

Sean leaves me shaken and stirred

PHWOAR. I went weak at the knees just looking at him in his kilt.
"Just tell me what he's doing," I asked our deputy news editor John Corney, "I haven't got the strength to read it."

Actually, John, I don't even care I'm so shaken and stirred. Oh, what a knight!

There's certainly something about a man in a kilt if he's all man, like the dauntingly, divine Sir Sean Connery who, at 76, just gets better with age.

He of the rich lilt and twinkling eye was the Best Bond ever, and he's been back in the news this week supporting the call for Scottish independence.

And I've arranged to keep him close by me – well, his picture anyway – so he'll be the first thing I see whenever I switch on my computer. Aaahh, the wonders of technology.

It's made me the envy of my wonderfully funny friend Pauline.
She, however, has a dream man of her own. She was knocked out by the sight of a tall, dark man on the South Shields ferry.

Even her husband agreed he was some good-looking guy.

She despairingly told me: "How did I end up with a short, ginger fella?
"He has asked me if I want to go on a cruise, though."

"I said yes, as long as it's on the Shields ferry."