Basket Case

Supermarket Sheep

Please go to cashier twelve. Beep. Beep. Unexpected item in bagging area. Beep. Please wait for assistance. Beep.

Baa! Baa!

Not so long ago, while mindlessly queuing for the next instruction from a haughty digitised voice, herded through the snaking cordons like a lamb to the slaughter, I had a moment of clarity; “What in Heaven's name am I doing here? Why am I treating food shopping as a chore? How has it come to this?”

Call me old fashioned if you will, but of all the things I want for my life, none of them is staring into space while kicking a basket forwards in increments of 6 inches, surrounded by beep beep beep and whining children. Listen to those kids people, they're screaming to get out; they know.

Now I'm not against supermarkets per se, in fact I still often succumb to their glitzy charms, particularly if I've had a busy week, but I've taken a conscious decision to inject some enjoyment into food shopping, and that enjoyment comes from going to local shops.

The real inspiration came one Sunday morning while out on my bike near Victoria Park, in London's East End. Cycling down Lauriston Road, in general admiration at its surprising prettiness, I spied an animated group of people on the pavement, outside what turned out to be the local butcher. Teeming with customers - queuing, laughing, rabbiting - it was a scene of neighbourly delight, and I wanted a part of it.

Suddenly open to the possibility of a local store, I'm noticing greengrocers, fruit & veg stalls, butchers and fishmongers wherever I go; not so rare it turns out as we've been led to believe; open your eyes and you shall see. Find them, look them up, support your neighbourhood business. For me, what opened my eyes was getting back in the saddle. I began to explore; what if I turn left here? That parade of shops looks interesting down there. This sort of behaviour simply doesn't happen in a car; you can't just stop in the middle of the road and eye up hanging pigs.

"But what if I don't have the time?" you cry. Well, be creative. If you've honestly, truly, really not got time at the weekend, why not grab 5 minutes in your lunch break and pop into the butcher. Even if only for some sausages. Just once. And see the difference. Real interaction with a local person who really knows their onions, or bacons, or fishes. You won't get that from Shanice on the checkout.

And time? Well are supermarkets really that time efficient? This weekend I cooked dinner for eight. Two chickens, some veg, berries & cream for dessert, some oil, some mustard. Oh yes, and March of the Penguins on DVD. £30 all in. But how on earth does this take an hour and a half to buy? I'll tell you how; by going to a store where the food is spread out across an area the size of two football pitches, in a windowless arena where time and space are at once banished to the world outside.

"Oh but I've got a system" you boast. "How dreary", I retort. How absolutely, miserably, monumentally dull, to relegate one of life's most unerring delights to a soulless efficiency drive. Boo hiss to your system. And two fingers up at it an' all. We're hunter gatherers people, not drones. And we've been hunter-gatherers for thousands of years. So hunt. And gather. And delight in the world and smells and people of food.

Supermarkets? They're just a phrase we're going through.