Shop Local

This Bird is possibly in need of a blue rinse and twin-set, but I have been fondly musing on the subject of the local shop. Hardly a hot political issue, one may say, but the more this Bird contemplates the idea, the more it seems to represent so much that is being lost in the daze of capitalist consumerism and the breakdown of community. Far from being the idyllic village shop, our local is for cheap Stella, cigs, pot noodles and chocolate. It has, however, a magical back shelf. The shelf is tiny, yet somehow whatever obscure item may be needed in a hurry it's lurking there. This is not the most magical part of the shop, though. The couple who run it scrape a modest living, working long hours. They know all the regular customers by name. They know which customers are on the scrounge and which ones are genuinely single mothers that will pay for the pint of milk tomorrow but have to feed their kids today. When a lonely neighbour lost her much-loved dog, they asked after her every time they saw her and made a point of chatting to her whenever she came in to make sure she was ok. When the local teenagers come in they don't need to check for ID because they've known them all for years. To sum it all up, they know the local community, and they care. Stick that in your bag for life, Tesco.