Pleasant and sociable shopping

Yesterday I went shopping for the first time in eight days. My fridge was almost empty. Mind you, this was a great moment to give it a good clean, which I did.  But it had to be refilled without further delay. And I was slightly concerned - I won't say worried or anxious, but definitely concerned - that Waitrose in Burgess Hill wouldn't have all I needed. On the other hand, I'd had an email from them, telling me that they were now limiting the number of customers allowed inside their stores at any one time; and certain restrictions on how much one could buy of some products were in force. Which should add up to a serene in-store experience, and some rationing to make things fairer.

Yes, I had my favourite farm shop to fall back on, but really I was hoping to get most of what I'd need at Waitrose.

So that was my first destination - rather than the old way, which had been to go to the filling station first, the farm shop second, and Waitrose third.

It was no good going too early. Waitrose opened at 7.30am, but the first hour was for elderly shoppers only. So I got there just before 8.30am, expecting something like the usual amount of traffic on the roads, a full car park outside Waitrose, and massive queues to get in. But no. The road into Burgess Hill was very quiet. And the car park had very few cars in it. A good sign. I got a shopping trolley and headed for the entrance.

There a young man was acting as doorkeeper. I was third in line to go in. 'One out, one in' was being operated, and we all had to stand two metres apart. Quite right. As I stood there, others arrived and joined the queue. One or two of them seemed surprised to find this spaced-out queue, which was already snaking into the interior of the shopping centre. But nobody made a fuss, and we were a good-humoured and compliant snake.

Soon enough, I was let in. The place was almost empty. Perhaps no more than a dozen shoppers were inside. And about the same number of staff in the aisles - partly to supervise any customer encounters, I imagined. But it should be easy to avoid close contact.

What a pleasure to see well-stocked shelves, at least in the fruit and vegetable section! And to feel no pressure, because so few others were around.

Of course this completely idyllic mood didn't last. I was selecting some green veg for my trolley, and nearly done (just green beans to reach for), when I noticed that another woman was edging closer and closer, evidently after the same kind of beans. Why didn't she wait until I had completely finished, then make her own choice? But no, closer she came. I sprang away, giving her a look. She wasn't in the least apologetic, even though she was physically forcing me away from the green veg section. All she did was give me a dark look and mutter. 

Well, really. What can you do with people like that? She was older than me, but not by much. I felt she should have had a better understanding of the two-metre rule, more patience, and certainly better manners. With a mental shrug, I moved off to the fish counter. (I returned later, when the coast was clear, and got my beans) 

The rest of my shopping at Waitrose was not quite as mellow as the first few minutes had been, and it became slightly more difficult to avoid coming too close to other customers. (Were they letting in more people now?)  But it remained remarkably relaxed, compared to how busy it normally is.  

My trolley was filling up. I was partly restocking, partly buying a bit more for the week ahead. In order to lessen my exposure to other shoppers, or their exposure to me, I planned henceforth to shop only once a week rather than twice. So I needed roughly double the usual quantity. Hence the extra stuff in the trolley. And I couldn't get everything; the shelves were still empty in some areas; although the only items I wanted, but couldn't have, were Jordans muesli, Branston pickle, and gherkins. It wasn't a crisis.

Waitrose had made room for some Easter stuff, but it wasn't selling. 

That Peter Rabbit looked a bit anxious, suspecting that nobody would give him a home!

Out in the sunshine again, it was impossible not to feel good. I'd spent £125, but then my fridge would be full, my freezer better-stocked, and I wouldn't need to do another big shop until the following week. And what else would I spend my money on meanwhile? (I did very little online shopping, and wasn't going to change that anytime soon)

Closing Fiona's hatch, I went back into the shopping centre - one or two things to get from Boots. They weren't open yet, so I had a quick wander around the centre. Most shops were closed because of the coronavirus regulations. A few people were around, but it was a startling change from the usual scene, although the sunshine made the mood upbeat. It would come to life again, sometime.

Bonmarché had died well before the virus had struck. A High Street casualty for a different reason, a reason to do with falling footfall and large debts. More well-known names were bound to go under now, their slow decline fiercely accelerated. And yet, arguably, there had been way too much choice for shoppers; too many very similar shops. Would it really do great harm if there was a thinning out? If the very cheap fashion shops, reliant on low-wage foreign sweat-factories, all disappeared?

I went back to Boots. A patient queue was forming. Everyone was observing the two-metre rule as if it had been part of their lives for a very long time. How quiet and civilised, the situation accepted and adapted to. 

Until a grumpy woman came along. 'Oh, what's this? We're having to line up, are we? Keeping our distance, is that it? Huh!'  I thought she was going to add 'A fine state of affairs! What stupid rules!' but she didn't. Perhaps (I couldn't see, she was somewhere behind me) she got looks from the other queuers, and had decided to shut up. Once again, a woman probably older than me, but not by much. My generation anyway. What a poor ambassador for senior people. 'Where's your Blitz spirit?' I thought. 

How silly of me. Anyone old enough to have experienced the air-raids of 1940-41 as a young child must now be in their late eighties at least, and probably in some kind of care home.

Boots was also operating a 'one out, one in' policy, this time with a lady on the door. It was strict. Inside, it was once again a pleasure to shop without people under your feet all the time. As in Waitrose, I managed to greet staff I knew in passing. Having paid - contactlessly, of course - I overheard two staff members commenting on the futility of one poster sent to them. An offer on paracetamol, when they had no stock of it, because of panic buying only days earlier.

After going home to put my purchases away in fridge, freezer and medicine cabinet, I got fuel for Fiona and then drove to the farm shop. Here they were operating a 'two out, two in' policy, but the spaced-out queue was longer. We had to stand in line, but we were sun-kissed. It was so pleasant. Time passed, but it didn't matter. And we fell to chatting very easily. Eventually I was inside, and made a beeline for the butchery counter, getting a very cheerful greeting from Peter and Eddie. I only wanted meat, and they had most types on offer, but no chicken. Presumably the panic buyers had come here too. That, and suddenly unreliable deliveries. But I still got most of what I wanted: bacon, pork, gammon, lamb, liver, kidneys. I resisted the impulse to buy artisan bread, cheese and other yummy goodies to keep it company.

I'd spent over three hours shopping. Quite enough. I had some sushi for lunch, then plonked myself on the recliner in my lounge, the one that gets all the sun through the garden window. I soon had to take my leggings off. That sun was quite hot.

So easy to close one's eyes and nod off...