Everyone except Watson might get a bargain

On a Thursday, the Business Herald ventures to Crouch End in Hornsey, north London, an affluent part of the UK capital.

"PowerHouse Sale Now On!" screams the red and white banner tied to the railings outside the store.

Although the store is on the bustling Broadway, it sits on a derelict corner beside an empty, crumbling civic building and a small park where alcoholics gather.

Most of the nine customers in the small shop are what the British press smugly refers to as "chavs" - Burberry-wearing council estate types.

Perhaps they are drawn to the store's pile-'em high, sell-'em cheap look: DVD players and dryers, toasters and televisions, and blenders and egg boilers - surely the kind of gadget to dethrone the iPod - all jostle for shoppers' attention.

There are plenty of premium brands, such as Dyson vacuum cleaners (299.99 or $790), a JVC home cinema package (on sale for 649.99) and Zanussi washing machines (349.99).

But almost every item in store bears a large, laminated price label.

"Hurry! Must end soon!" The posters are insistent, but a shop assistant admits the sale goes until mid-February.

"It's been busy, things have been flying off the shelves," she says, while helping out two women who are interested in washing machines.

Betty Carthy, 69, is browsing the store with her daughter, who is looking for a microwave.

She is quick to point out she does not live around here, and nor does she shop at PowerHouse.

"Currys and John Lewis still have the best stuff at the best prices. But here is still very nice - and cheerful."

In the end, Betty and her daughter get to decide if Eric Watson got a bargain buy.