Shopping has taken us in some mighty strange directions since the virus arrived
So perhaps, if we stay alert and follow Mr Johnson’s absolutely infallible multicoloured plan, the shops will open soon. I don’t know how I feel about that. On the one hand, I have missed ferreting through the TK Maxx beauty aisle, sorting the brand-name wheat from the quixotically named chaff (so many unlikely doctors selling moisturiser!) then entering a fugue state and emerging with a yoga block, some bath salts and four bags of nearly expired cantucci biscuits. On the other, it’s been interesting to experiment with consuming differently, and less.
Of course, it’s only “interesting” when you’re not hungry, skint, sick or scared. But there’s a salutary jolt to the system in not buying things you don’t need, having to wait, and wait, for a pair of scissors, or being thrilled by a bag of penne. Since the panic buying subsided, I’ve shopped in the ways I always knew I should: making careful lists, planning meals and staying local. Some intriguing alternative networks have sprung up around food, in particular, mixing old and new. A tip from an acquaintance about a wholesaler selling online transformed my stepfather into the yeast king of his street, doling it out to all comers. A weekly email sends me to a car park where a man in a van hands over foraged greens, local eggs and rhubarb on tick. A different man leaves an Eccles cake on your doorstep at 3pm if you DM him at 9.30am sharp. I’ve even heard of an invitation-only fish-buying collective (I’m not invited).
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