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...
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| (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.
