A handful of nice prototype machine shop photos I discovered:
2014 grocery buying at the Clifton Speedy Shop
Image by brizzle born and bred
On a sunny spring morning in the quiet village of Clifton in Derbyshire, a steady stream of individuals are generating their way towards the Cock Inn. They are not early increasing drinkers the pub is not but open. As an alternative they head about to the vehicle park at the back.
Here sits the UK’s very first “automated shop” – a bus shelter-sized giant vending machine promoting every thing from fresh milk and eggs to umbrellas and cat meals.
Made to look like a quaint village shop, yet with the advantage of far more reputable opening hours, it is intended to lead a quiet, mechanised revolution in rural regions across Britain, filling the gap left by the widespread closure of standard retailers.
The Clifton Speedy-Shop, as it is formally known, has been gratefully welcomed by residents, who haven’t had a village shop for far more than a decade.
“They quite considerably emptied it on Monday evening. It was excellent,” says Lorraine Garside, the landlady of the Cock, who admits that she has currently fed her hungry consumers using a loaf of bread bought from the machine.
“We haven’t had a village shop for about 13, 14 years and there are no bus services by means of the village any more, so if you want a pint of milk you have to stroll into town if you don’t drive. It’s very reasonably priced – I believe it is marvellous.”
The machine is the brainchild of Peter Fox, a 50-year-old electrical engineer who employed to live in a small village and became frustrated at coming property late from operate to uncover nothing at all in the fridge. Having spent more than two years designing the prototype, he now hopes that equivalent machines can be rolled out nationally, but says he does not have the sources to expand as quickly as he would like and is now actively seeking a business companion.
“I personal all the intellectual property, but I do not have a factory with 500 folks and I cannot manufacture hundreds of these a week,” he says. “I undoubtedly intend to roll it out myself anyway, and I’ve already got other machines in my factory which are almost complete … but naturally I can not instantly begin producing hundreds of machines and sending them all more than the UK. To do that I’ve either got to grow organically, which will take time, or find somebody who desires to jump in with me.”
Accepting cash or credit cards, the machine emails Mr Fox anytime it dispenses an item, so he can keep track of stock levels. Despite the fact that he is reluctant to reveal just how very good company has been so far, on the grounds that it is “early days”, he says there has been a “steady stream” of villagers acquiring every little thing from washing powder to toothpaste and bags of sugar.
Handy for buying important household staple, a can of eight hot dogs (89p). Other items on provide incorporated six eggs (£1.75), bacon (£2.69), a pair of sticky toffee puddings (£1.99) and a book of first class stamps (£3.60).
Even though the machine is attracting far more publicity than Clifton has received in years, most buyers yesterday seemed happier to browse rather than purchase. Barbara Goodwin, out for a stroll with her husband and their two dogs, was amongst the window shoppers. “I’m not quite certain,” she says. “There is a general shop a couple of miles away. But having stated that, late at evening, you don’t have to go far, and it is extremely hassle-free.”
The machine carries another benefit for Mrs Garside: relieving the stress on her pub to act as an informal grocer for naive vacationers who rent self-catered cottages, only to be left baffled at the village’s lack of a Tesco Express. “You do get some southerners … who come up and feel that every quaint village has a shop, and of course it doesn’t any more,” she says. “So now we have.”