Back again

 It's been a decade. I am sure by now you have all moved through and beyond all of the stages of grief. I like to imagine there are still times, where you see the sun shining on one of those green 'Waitrose' signs somewhere and just for a moment you still think of me. If you don't, then you are a heartless and callous person and you should stop reading. After all I have sacrificed....

Well anyway, if you are still reading, then you aren't entirely made of stone. This is a good thing not only for you in a general sense, but also for the version of you who is ready and willing to rejoin the hunt for a deeper and broader understanding of that most intoxicating and compelling of supermarkets: Waitrose.

I shan't be recapping anything, even though there has been such a ridiculous hiatus between entries on this blog. I will also not be providing any further explanation of why their has been such a hiatus, or why (indeed) I shan't be doing any recaps. We (all) must accept that this is not a continuation, it is a 'renaissance'.  Think of yourselves as Bastian Bux from the film Never Ending Story. You have found yourself in a strange bookshop, hiding from some very unempathetic bullies, wiping the dust of a strange tome. You have both never seen this book before, and know it intimately, if only on some ethereal, astral plain. You are compelled to read on, no matter how traumatic the narrative becomes...

(fig. 1: this is you)

Barbican

The Barbican is somewhere I have, for reasons I shan't [I love using the word "shan't", in case you haven't noticed] go into at this juncture, spent quite a bit of time over the years. I don't really wish this 'thing' I am writing to be biographical, but purely editorial, so will not be divesting any further on that. For those who have never been to the Barbican Centre and/or Estate, it is as close to architectural marmite as I think its possible to be. I do not like marmite, I do love the Barbican. The more times I visit, the more the place yields to me, and the more happy memories I associate with it. Not being qualified to make any interesting comment on its design or history, I will leave that to the professionals. 

Every time I go there I get lost, and I mean spatially lost, not emotionally lost or something. I'm not crying, you're crying (see  fig. 1 above).  Its stairs seem to go everywhere and nowhere. Walkways straddle other walkways. To go forward you must go back; up is down, left is right etc. Your soulmate could be standing just on the other side of a pane of glass, and you couldn't be further away from them at the same time. How can one anchor oneself in such a disorientating melange of concrete and reflective surfaces? My mooring post is the Waitrose on Whitecross Street. 

Even though this Waitrose isn't inside the Barbican Estate per se, its address is listed as 'Barbican' and Waitrose call it "Waitrose Barbican", so hopefully thats enough for you. Its not quite a stone's through from the main entrance of the Barbican Centre (to the extend that the Barbican Centre has a 'main' entrance, it being as confusing as it is). This Waitrose has been in situ for a good long while, at least since 2006 according to this marvellous website: https://waitrosememorystore.org.uk/content/branches-3/branches-a-b/barbican-732/barbican-732

The branch is located inside a small mid century-ish shopping precinct, the kind that are still relatively common in high streets up and down the country. I have never been in any of the other shops located on this precinct. What does that tell you about the validity or utility of these types of developments? 

The entrance is kind of hidden, set back from Whitecross Street itself. It is sheltered from the elements (wind and rain, sun presumably too) by an overhanging canopy supported by tiled columns.  The entrance itself I find rather welcoming, even though it is a little obscured when you first approach. What can I say that is worth reading about this store? Hmmmmm. 

It is pretty famous amongst Waitrose enthusiasts as being a pretty good bet for some reduced items. As the area is somewhat sporadically inhabited (due to the high concentration of vacant flats and city workers in the Estate), it feels as though there are often fairly high value items remaining unsold until their best before date looms imposingly. I have picked up absolutely bargains here more times than I wish to count. I have no shame in finding this a very rewarding and delectable state of affairs. 

Layout wise, you start with fresh fruit and veg as you might expect, with then ready meals, refrigerated meats and dairy too. So far, nothing out of the ordinary. But then you find yourself in the booze aisle(s). this is much closer to both the tills and the entrance than I have seen. What can we surmise from this? Well, these city workers have a reputation for enjoying a tipple. The Waitrose powers that be stopped short of putting the alcohol as the first thing you encounter as you enter, probably not wanting this to become nothing but a temple of unbridled and irresponsible libation. No. They force those sauced up bankers to at least pay passing respect to actual food before they select their stiff beverages. 

What you find beyond the booze as you move further into the bowels of the store is the bakery, then dry goods and then finally medicines right at the back. As you browse the shelves you will find some very high end stuff, even for Waitrose. It's almost getting into John Lewis Food Court territory at times.  

What do I like about this Waitrose? Well for me it definitely has a sense of 'place'. I also enjoy how quiet it can be on the weekends. Just like the Barbican itself, it feels like a kind of oasis or hitching post away from the clamour. I can close my eyes and hear the birds singing, and the wind moving through the leaves of the trees. Well, I have never tried this in reality, but writing that made me feel warm inside. There is a homeliness to it. It doesn't feel at all like a glorified off licence like so many other city centre supermarkets. And likewise, it doesn't feel bloated and bleak like so many supermarkets on the outskirts of towns and cities. You could arrange to meet a friend or loved one outside this Waitrose at a certain time on a Saturday morning, and if either one of you were to be late, the one who was waiting could do so quite pleasantly. You wouldn't feel self conscious, nor would you feel ignored. You wouldn't feel lost. 

That's all for now. I shan't [there it is again] leave it another decade between posts this time I promise. 

Canary Wharf

Canary Wharf

 

 An oasis in the dessert of the clinical, narcissistic world of Canary Wharf, Waitrose shines out like a beacon. The real question though, and this is a question without a proper answer it has to be admitted, is whether this particular Waitrose manages to retain enough of the essence of the brand without allowing it to all seep away,  squeezed out under the pressure of the castles of the corporate elites and the temples to vacuous and rampant consumerism. Well, I am here to argue, dear reader, that in this struggle, the light has been all but snuffed out by the darkness...

[ASIDE: There's loads of photos in this one, well five, so if you are daunted by what you have already read then you have the right to just look at the pictures. In all honestly though, if you are feeling daunted, then this right here is not for you and the time I took taking the photos was a waste of said time... in your case. Cease reading and close your browser window...Still here? Good]

...The character and ethos of our beloved, but duely scrutinised, Waitrose lists and buckles under the immense weight it is forced to carry. To float a metaphor, imagine if you will you had a favorite horse (not that I own a horse, let alone enough to choose a fave). This horse had it's rough edges, but it's courage, affection and loyalty forged the strongest of bonds between the two of you. This horse, call him Smokey, is sent off to the big stables, bulked up by Quaker oats and steroids, and set to work winning race after race for some seedy set of well-off owners who see fit to rename him with a ridiculous title like "Nugget of Boron" or "Whet Yer Beek Shortee" (I actually made these up). One day you encounter your horse by chance outside the Plumpton race course. Smokey's being led around by an indifferent stablehand, with one of those horsey jacket things barely concealing his engorged and denatured muscle structure. At first you fail to recognise him, but he comes close enough for the two of you to look at each other, eyeball to eyeball, and you see the faint glimmer of that spark of friendship you once shared. The glimmer quickly fades though, and all you really see is a bastardised shadow of what you once loved. That's what the Canary Wharf Waitrose is like.

 One of the key points to raise about the Wharfrose is that it's not merely a Waitrose, it's also essentially a John Lewis as well. Figure A (above) shows the floor plan of this format. I stood looking at this sign, calmly, and then continued not to venture to either the "Home" or the "Fashion" area. As I neither have a 'home' of my own, or any real interest in 'fashion', I saw no need to distract myself with such pointless things. Within the Waitrose Food floor, the layout is not too disimilar from other branches (see Lewes and Balham as examples). However it is what goes on around the periphery of the usual aisle scenario which shows this 'Waitrose' for what it truly is.

It was in the toiletries aisle which I encountered one of life's little cul-de-sacs. As I was in the market for a fresh tub of hair product, I perused the offerings partly shown in Figure B (above). Bypassing the Lynx hair styling range (I know, I was as surprised as you must be!), I wasn't left with much choice manufacturer wise. The only four left were all by the same company and had such non-descript names as "Shaping Dough","Defining Paste" and "Gritty Clay". My somewhat cynical eye was just about tolerant enough of "Grubby Putty" for some reason and I decided to unscrew the lid. Some of you may know that I am a very tactile person, and I like to explore the world with my fingers. Finding nothing to better inform me as to this products qualities with merely my visual sensory data, I dabbed a finger onto the surface of the matter contained in the pot. I gained little more from this dab, but I immediately realised that I had committed myself to this little pot of 'Grubby Putty'. I just wondered what I would have thought if, after unscrewing the lid, I had been faced with an impression of a fingertip similar to the one I had now made. My initial reaction would be disgust at the thought that a total stranger had dabbed the 'putty', a fear of the unknown if you will. But, as a tactile gent, the fact that another tactile sort had dabbed and then disregarded the product as unsuitable would also be a big put off. So I purchased the damn thing okay, with precisely no knowledge of whether it will do what I want it to do, and I'm not at all sure of what I want it to do anyway! The pain I endure for Waitrose!

Yeah you read the sign right! A bloody steak and oyster bar, in a supermarket. This I have never seen before. As I was making my visitation on a Sunday afternoon, I can only imagine the scene I would have encountered on a busy Wednesday Lunctime. Crowds of suited and booted people, bustling about this bar area, steak in one hand, oyster in another, whittling away the meager 30 min lunchbreak they are given between bouts of wealth-hunting. Poor creatures. Needless to say it's just wrong and it sucks.

 Equally ridiculous is the Wine Bar they also have just round the corner from it's "Steak and Oyster" cousin. As I saw that they had a 'Wine Bar' I instantly prayed to the creator that there wasn't anyone actually pathetic enough to be sitting there at 5:30pm on a Sunday. There was. Two people with over sized glasses filled with an entirely ordinary amount of red wine. It wouldn't have bothered me as much if they had seemed a bit self-aware or humble, but these two reeked of smuggness. It was hanging from them like a tail of snot from a nose.

 Smoothies on crushed ice! Nothing majorly wrong with this, probably the most tolerable innovation I saw on this visitation, but would have looked much better as a central display rather than a standard cabinet. Still keeps the ice-salesmen in the black I guess.

So there we have it. There is clearly new ground being broken at the Wharfrose. There is the Home and Fashion sections, which I couldn't care less about really, but this may make the Wharfrose much more appealing for you. It should be said that this is the largest branch of Waitrose to date. But unfortunately it seems as though the extra square metres of floor space has been filled with nonsense. Was it so much to ask that they just put a bloody big Waitrose in Canary Wharf and left it at that. Is the need for superfluous bullshit so rife in this part of the capital that even things which are exceptional, and at times a bit poncey anyway, are just projected to fit into some corrupted, inhuman vision of the world? I have not been deterred from the journey I set out on all those months and three posts ago, and neither should you. The next installment should, for all our sakes, be one that reaffirms why we are all here. Until then...

Balham

Balham (Blaaaahhhhmmm yaahhhhh??)

Well, you were warned not to expect anything timely from this blog weren't you? True to my word, I have left a vast period of time in between posts. How did you occupy yourself in the meantime? Must have been awful. Ok, off we go...

Balham Waitrose is certainly not the best known of the South West London branches. Clapham Junction, Wandsworth, Putney...I don't need to tell you the big names. (Side note: Wouldn't it be cool if the employees at each branch referred to them as 'firms' instead of branches? That would really intensify the rivalry. I assume there is rivalry). The Balham Firm certainly isn't showy like some of the Waitroses in more affluent areas (Windsor par examplé, review to follow soon). But if you think about it... really think (ok don't strain anything) it actually offers serious benefits for patronage. For starters it is located on the CS7 (Cycle-Superhighway, the), which stretches from the City to Merton. In my time I have cycled the entire length of this route, and can't really understand why two such places were linked. I mean Merton... and the City. But whatever they were smoking in city hall when they drew up the plans, CS7 is rather useful. The Balham Boys (and Chicks...and Trans Genders...didn't see any though...and obvious ones anyway) have embraced the cycling theme, and instead of just putting a few poxy bike racks in a dingy corner of the car park, there are shiny bike bays right in front of the store. I mean right in front! It’s like having diamond bike shaped grill in your mouth. It's like a bleeding bike pride parade out there on a Saturday morning. Unfortunately this can't be seen from the photo above because, and pause for a moment to appreciate, someone has parked their massive 4 by 4 in the middle of my shot and obscured the bike bays. Will there be no end to the injustice?

What can also be seen in this shot is a lady who did not give me explicit permission to take a photo of her. In my defence I was not attempting to take a photo of her, but she walked into frame (that's photography lingo for that square bit with the shit in it you are snapping at) and I hadn't realised until a split second after pressing the button. She looked straight at me, my phone still raised to my face photo taking style. She had an expression lacking both sympathy and understanding. From her perspective, our meeting had all the abruptness and menace of a climber encountering a grizzly bear around a narrow mountain pass; me being the bear in this case, she being the frightened climber, uncomfortably aware of her mortality. Clearly, the thought of it being actually perfectly OK for a large man in cycling shorts taking photos in a supermarket car park was a concept this young lady couldn't ,or wouldn't, entertain with any degree of hospitality. I could have attempted to explain my motives for taking the photo, namely the impetus behind this blog itself (see Manifesto).  Allowing myself three seconds to decide between my options, I opted to beat the retreat, leaving her to draw what narrow-minded and jaundiced interpretations she would as to what I was actually doing. (NOTE TO SELF: Print cards with a link to the blog to hand out to women/people who I may encounter on my journey so as to explain behaviour). 

The interior of the Balham Waitrose is a standard rectangular format, with aisles going up and down within. The entrance is actually in the bottom left of the building, and as with most Waitrose, you start with the fruit and veg section. The Fish, Meat and Bakery sections stretch across the back wall, and the booze is stuck in the top right corner. They have limited self-service check out facilities, kicking it old school with actual 'human beings' for you to ignore whilst they beep through your indulgent groceries over and over, one by one...

It's a very good sized Waitrose all in all, and has a really nice flow to it. Mid-week day time it's quiet as anything as Balham is commuter-ville, but I get the impression that come Saturday morning it would be hellish, unless you like prams and SW-ILFS (Milfs from SW got it?)...well I'm a 50 percenter on that. The big discussion point for the Balham branch is that it offers a John Lewis buy and collect service. This is a very useful tool, if you are the sort of person who buys John Lewis merch (I am on occasion, deal with it). Useful in theory, however the system in place at Balham Waitrose is chaotic. You hand in your little order confirmation slip at the information desk, which is immediately in front of the entrance to the store. You then are told simply to wait, and gestured towards an orderless assembly of other people in the same boat. Given the proximity to the entrance/exit of the building, there are just loads of random people hanging about, and the staff at the desk find it hard to actual work out who is wanting what. You have already handed over your slip so when your goods turn up from behind the scenes of the store somewhere, the long digits read out mean absolutely nothing to the captivated crowd. The staff at the desk then must read out exactly what is included in the order for all those within earshot to digest. Invasion of privacy? Uh…yah! So in short, Waitrose and John Lewis are trying a bit of an Argos operation, without the minerals or pedigree to pull it off. The Argos 'Firm' might have a few things to say about that.

Blahhhm Waitrose is one I am fond of all in all though, and the collection service will no doubt improve. It's a logical, navigable store, large enough to provide what you want, but not anonymous, and very much of it's setting.  The superb cycle-friendly aspect of it’s character wins me over, so the teething problems I encountered are easily tolerated. I just hope that the citizens of the people’s republic of Balham employ the same open-minded outlook on life that I do.

Until next time…

Lewes

Key concepts for consideration:

• Lewesians
• Lewes-IQ
• Oblong vs Circular Salad Bars
• 'Carlos' 
• 'Out-of-towner(s)'

Greetings traveler,

Prologue


For those of you who are not familiar with the dream-like paradise on Earth that is Lewes, Sussex then let me take you by the hand and lead you through a brief, but highly accurate, history of settlement in this geographical location: like years and years ago, some beardy tribesman (probably clothed in animal hide) decided that he didn't much get a thrill from kipping down in his cave on the hillside, so on the banks of the sacred River Ouse he built a hut. Didn't take him too long to realise that he'd just found himself a ruddy garden of Eden, and other beardy cavemen and cavewomen jumped on the band wagon and joined in with gusto. No internet virals back then, just word mouth, and real viral diseases. Although technologies may have changed, this essential process has been replicating itself for the intervening millennia, until the historical epoch that concerns us, dear traveller.

Modern history in Lewes can usefully be divided into three distinct periods: Safeway, Morrison's and Waitrose, or 'Complication, Crisis and Resolution'. The demands of the modern world meant that a supermarket had to be built, but unfortunately Safeway was all we got. Many now reflect on the Safeway days with melancholic nostalgia, but the coming of Morrison's cannot be remembered with as much brightness. In fact, calling upon the scarring images of that garish yellow lettering in our beautiful town causes sweats, nervous muttering and a slight dry heave. Not that I myself have any major beef with the chain itself. During my 'wilderness years' up in 'the North', I developed a great fondness for Morrison's, particularly the Kirkstall branch. But something wasn't quite right with having it in Lewes. The Lay-Lines converged in such a way as to cause a sort of shamanic void, and a black cloud hang over the town. Needless to say it didn't last long, the Lewesians voted with their feet as they always do, and our deliverance from this particular circle of hell came in the form of Waitrose. (Those with a high Lewes-IQ amongst you will have mentioned the lack of mention of Tesco from this potted history. Cease digestion, this is not for you.)

And so to the task at hand...

Overview

I wanted to start with the branch closest to my heart, and here it is. The view you can see above is looking from the bike parking bay (seen at the bottom of the frame). My bike, 'Carlos' (as in Carlos the Jackal, cos when me and him be rolling we're like flipping assassins. On my journey, he will be my stead), is just visible amongst the mess of locked up bikes.

(an aside: at this point some of you may have noticed that I am using some sub-headings in my prose. Please do. not be under the misinterpretation that these headings will appear regularly in subsequent postings. They won't. I may not even use headings at all in subsequent posts. I just started doing it in this one, and now I am temporarily committed to them, but I'm a fickle little pickle me)

Location and access

Well, it's in Lewes obviously. But it really is in Lewes though. Right bang in the center of the action. Lewes is famous (in part) for it's hilly topographical texture, and those averse to striding heroically up and down the sharp reliefs will be reassured to know that the Waitrose lies on land of minimal elevation above sea level. 

If you are arriving on a mode of transport possessing wheels (either the two wheeled kind I favor, or the four-wheeled Thatcher-mobiles the majority seem to covet with such gusto) then you'll be in for a shock. Parking is minimal, and the bike parking particularly seems to have been designed by someone who either has an ideological hatred or psychopathic disregard for bicycles.

Major Features (Physical)

It's got all the major elemental foundations of a good Waitrose: Bakery and Patisserie, Butcher, Fish, Houmous etc. The Salad Bar is circular, which initially feel more intuitive to the oblong ones you often find. Salad is a cyclical phenomenon really, and one likes to make a couple of revolutions around the Bar to make sure all options have been considered. Perusing an Oblong Salad Bar often results in a back and forth motion, reminiscent of spectating a tennis match (I assume, never been). The Oblong Bar also restricts flow of customers, due to having to move both ways along a single vector. Instead of floating in orbits around the Bar like an electron circling the nucleus of an atom, you are forced to dart from side to side. It's not natural. For all the upsides of the Atomic Salad Bar Model there is a major downside; it's not unheard of to see confused old ladies make many more revolutions around the circular bar than they need to, denied the punctuation points of the oblong bar to remind them that they must continue their shop. It's a double edged sword, this is true, but the lesser of two evils none-the-less. Further discussion on this topic will occur in subsequent posts. I need more time (damn you).

There is a standard sized Patisserie counter too. A major set back of this is that it is often under the jurisdiction of a member of staff also charged with the 'Cheese' counter duties. Corporate 'downsizing' or 'streamlining' a likely cause. Sometimes you can end up waiting for quite sometime before you are noticed and dealt with, allowing too much opportunity to reconsider your purile desire for a liddle slice of cake. 

Other than these two it's a standard set up of aisles. The Freezer department is on the small side, but then this is true of most Waitrose(s). It's not really the vibe is it? Another notable absence is 'Self-scan' tills. These are controversial additions to any supermarket, and Waitrose on the whole seems to have installed them in very few of it's branches nationwide (they do exist though). Lewesians still actually appreciate other human beings you see, we're not tired of engaging our linguistic and social capacities quite yet. 

Major Features (Non-physical/Phenomenological/Anecdotal)

Perhaps the best and worst time to visit the Lewes Waitrose is on the 5th of November or on one of the preceding days. Warning: it'll be busy. There is a palpable air of anticipation for the revelries in the town that permeates into the Waitrose, as the house-wives (with which Lewes is well furnished) hurriedly accumulate their supplies for all the 'out-of-towners' they have invited down from lesser places. These temporary parasites to proceedings may be involved in some shallow way with the events, but merely look on, carrying a mask of frivolous enjoyment, only just obscuring their smug, judgmental voyeurism of what they fail to recognise as truly profound non-conformity. As they watch the streets be taken over by fire and noise, feeling the bite of heavy smoke in their nostrils they think to themselves "I've read such interesting things about this place, and I can stomach the Harvey's Ale, but we would never be so irresponsible as to allow our precious children to grow up in a town that does this!". You're children will grow up without a subversive bone in their body, and will be in a state of existential poverty because of it. You may refuse to let them wear branded clothing, or take them on cultural birthday trips rather than a day at Laser Quest, but we burn and explode stuff, and the children are made to watch. Whilst their under-developed eyes are streaming, half choked to and with unbearable ringing in the ears, they feel the love.

Bonfire night aside, I once saw Sean Locke in the Lewes Waitrose. I actually first recognised a comedian by the name of Phil Kay, who is much less famous, but really very funny indeed. He was then tapped on the shoulder by another man, who on closer inspection (I was very discreet in my inspection) turned out to be Mr Locke. It seems they know each other from the circuit. "What a small world" we all thought. I have since seen Phil Kay in the Waitrose a number of times since, and have concluded that he must live locally. Welcome aboard Phil! 

To Conclude

It's a medium-sized affair at the Lewes Waitrose, but it's got character alright. It is an intrinsic part of the fabric of the town, and with plans for expansion on the horizon (Waitrose get bigger, house-wives stay happeeee!) there's plenty to get that appetite whet and keep it whetted for sometime to come. It was a logical starting point for the Task, but the Task has just begun...

MANIFESTO

Greetings traveler.  You've found it. This is it. Your journey is over. Collapse in a heap of exhausted satisfaction as your long search has come to an end; this is a blog providing in-depth, analytic critiques of the different outlets of Waitrose.

My name is Des, although compared to the task at hand that's relatively unimportant. Just know that I have been charged with the task, which is of biblical proportions. I can't say I chose the task, and to say it chose me would be granting myself more significance than I could justifiably entertain. The task presented itself, and I was fortunate enough to feel able to undertake it. If you're starting to build a picture in your head of me as some kind of modern-day Messiah figure then a would urge moderation. Am I a Messiah? Answer: we simply don't know yet.

So why Waitrose? The cynics among you will immediately think that it's because I, in some way, regard Waitrose as a superior supermarket chain to the others. Oh you cynics. This time you have some truth in what you cynically cooked up in those stunted and twisted little minds of yours. I regard Waitrose as a far superior supermarket to all the others, but for one perhaps surprising reason above the other possible ones. Yes they have better quality produce than other chains. Yes their ethical business approach is above and beyond the rest of the field. But my main reason for regarding Waitrose as superior, and also the fundamental reason as to why it is possible to undertake the task at hand, is the diversity within the chain itself. You go to one Tesco or Asda or Sainsbury's and you have been to them all. When you walk into a branch of Waitrose somewhere on this floating rock we call 'Britain', whilst you can be assured you will find a reassuring level of familiarity, this familiarity stops far short of becoming repetitive. There is enough unpredictability to mean crossing the threshold at a branch for the first time is always, even in some small way, a step into the unknown. Will there be a separate Patisserie counter? How large will the Salad Bar be? Will they have the fabled Ostrich Egg on sale? Will there be a Cafe? If you were to draw a Venn diagram with circles representing all the different combinations of features that each Waitrose branch could have, it would look like the cross section of some sort of flipping crazy swiss cheese made by a mad man (I would never use a Venn diagram in the task, the reasons for which will be explained below).

What are my criteria? Answer: there are none. There will be no box-ticking or template use in this task. None. If you are looking for a rating system of some kind then this is not for you. Stop reading immediately. Some lesser men (or women...but I am a man) would probably have devised some rating scale, awarding different criteria a score out of 5 or 10 or some other arbitrary number. Some even lesser men (or women... from hence forth the term men shall be meant to encompass the species as a whole. If you are a woman and feel that this is overlooking your gender then stop reading, this is not for you) would even have got out their Photoshop and made a stencil of a little rose and then given roses out of a possible 5 or something. I'm in the business of nuances not absolutes. Quantifying the good or bad points of each of the branches would be doing them a diservice. I wish above all else to furnish you, traveler, with a deeply visceral and layered conception of what each store is like. I'm not a numbers man, and I never will be. I was born with a gut, not a calculator dammit and so were you. Use it.

So am I qualified? Yes I clearly am. Have you read the last two paragraphs?

One further point must be made clear. The reports I generate in the task at hand should not be construde in any way as advertising for Waitrose. The dim-witted (and you cynics, haven't forgotten about you) will be saying that I clearly must be advocating the purchase of foods or other goods from Waitrose. I'm not. Two reason why I am not: firstly, I am assuming anyone who is motivated to engage with the task at hand has already made up their mind that Waitrose is a bit of alright already, and secondly, I will only ever encourage readers to enter a Waitrose branch, but the decision to buy anything is completely up to you (the reader, the traveler; these words I will use interchangeably for the same descriptive purpose). Many's the time I have gone into a Waitrose without the urge to buy anything, simply to explore new horizons.

If you are expecting regularity or timeliness in the posting of critiques then please stop reading, this is not for you either. I do 'em as I do 'em yeah? If you can't deal with a little unpredictability in your life then you're not welcome here, and should reconsider darkening the door of a Waitrose (for reasons explained above). If you are also expecting properly spell-checked and grammatically sound prose then cease reading also.  I will put in a level of effort into checking my spelling and grammar that I see fit, no more no less.

There are a lot of negatives in this initial passage thus far but let me assure you that the negatives needed to be gotten out of the way first so that all that really remains for us (those of you that are left) is constructive.


Enough squawking, the task awaits!