Groceries

Adele and I were watching a news item a while back about how a war - not one of the ten Trump has miraculously ended - was screwing up global supply chains with the inevitable knock-on effects. There was a vox pop segment to the report in which the intrepid interviewer stood in some run-down British high street to get the verdict of us ordinary people about the parlous state of our nation. One very loud pink-faced woman declared vehemently "It's the cost of the living that's to blame."

We laughed, We knew what she meant, but her unintentional extra 'the' could have been bemoaning the nexus of challenging issues (over-population, rampant consumerism, the huge burden of social welfare) faced by most post-industrial nations. The phrase stuck with me and I revisit "the cost of the living" later in today's new poem.

the cost of living increase

For now though, groceries - and yes, the prices do keep on going up (see image above). The impact of this latest idiocy, the Iran War, will take its toll on the cost of living, not just at the petrol pumps but in our supermarkets. Some people are surprised by the prediction that the UK will suffer most of all the G20 nations, but they need to understand that the huge underlying hit from Brexit, estimated at £100 billion every year, is the reason for us being in such an invidious position, So frankly, curse everyone who was stupid enough to ever believe that Brexit in any way, shape or form, was a good idea in the first place..  

I do most of my grocery shopping at Lidl (conveniently within walking distance) and Sainsbury's (preferred, but to which I have to drive). I'm not extravagant in what I purchase and even so  I reckon the cost per week has gone up by at least 50% in the last couple of years and some items have doubled in price. That's way above the rate of inflation. Supermarkets are ripping us off over the cost of groceries. Here are some figures:

The operating profit of market leader Tesco leapt from £1.8 billion in 2020 to £3.1 billion in 2025, an increase of 72%. Part of that goes to pay their boss his £10 million annual salary. I refuse to shop there. Aldi’s operating profit rose from £289 million in 2020 to £435 million in 2025, an increase of 50% over the same period. Even relative newcomer Lidl saw its operating profit rise by 297%, from £79 million in 2020 to £314 million in 2025. Those figures are shocking and have been dubbed 'greedflation' by consumer watchdog organisations. 

If you're wondering about Sainsbury's, their operating profit of just over £1 billion has risen by a mere 7% over the same period. Some might say that's bad business but others would call it ethical. I don't have a Co-op near me, but I get the impression they are on the ethical end of the spectrum as well.

How much simpler life was when we bought local produce at local shops, supporting local growers and businesses. I don't suppose we'll ever get back to that, except perhaps on our holidays. (Deep sigh.)

a Greek greengrocery store

Right, back to the shouty pink-faced lady in the run-down British high-street and her "cost of the living" malapropism which inspired my latest poem (still a work in progress)...
  

The Cost Of The Living

Imagine them all laid out in the world's window,

the living, some on plush, polished and preened

with a price-tag that reads ten million each, and

another card warning 'do not touch'. Below them

are rows of finely arrayed superior citizens each

in their individual cardboard dimples like prized

pieces of fruit. They're a mere million each. You

may handle them (carefully) as they bruise easily.

Then there are plastic crates full of ordinary folk

indistinguishable from one another all reasonably

priced at fifty thousand each, good honest staple

of any society diet these days. Adorning the front

of this tiered display a line of hothouse beauties,  

more to draw your eye than anything. They don't

last and are over-priced at five thousand a bunch.

Down on the floor in barrels are heaped the poor

on which the worth of the rest is based, still with 

the grime of their labours, only a hundred a time,

a gross for ten thou.  Buy now before prices rise!

shouts the grocer - and he's a multiple trillionaire.

Thanks for reading. Have a good week, S ;-)

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Groceries

One of the pleasures of living in my area is that if I’m short of a tea bag (awful thought) I can just nip out round the corner and get a box Yorkshire Gold (other brands are not acceptable) in a matter of minutes from my local grocers. What I would not expect to find is hundreds of boxes in stock waiting for me.

But that is what may have been the case back in 1345 when The Worshipful Company of Grocers was formed by a merger between The Guild of Pepperers, dating from 1180, with the Spicers who bought and then resold spices and other items to the public. But also, a wholesaler was sometimes called a spicer en gross. A gross meant a large amount of some product. Spicer en gross was sometimes shortened to grosser etc.

The Company then was responsible for maintaining standards for the purity of spices and for setting of certain weights and measures. Its membership until 1617 included suppliers of medicinal spices and herbs when the Worshipful Society of Apothecaries was formed.

The Great Twelve City of London Livery Companies

The Worshipful Company of Grocers is one of the 111 livery companies of the City of London and is one of the Great Twelve City Livery Companies (not my capital letters), ranking second in the order of precedence after the Mercers. The Company's motto is "God Grant Grace".

The Grocers' Company continues as a charitable, constitutional and ceremonial institution which plays a significant role in the election of and supporting the Lord Mayor and the Sheriffs of the City of London. The Company provides banqueting and conference facilities at Grocers' Hall situated in Prince's Street, next to the Bank of England.

The Ancient Guild of Pepperers chose a camel as its symbol due to pepper originally coming over land rather than sea. The camel is incorporated as the crest of the company's heraldic achievement which also includes two griffins holding the escutcheon (shield) on which is displayed the coat of arms: "Argent a Chevron Gules between nine Cloves six in chief and three in base Proper".

It is ranked second in the Companies order of precedence after the Mercers' Company. It is said that the Grocers' Company used to be first in the order, until Queen Elizabeth I, as Honorary Master of the Mercer's Company, found herself in procession, after her coronation, behind the Grocers' camel which was emitting unfortunate smells. As a result, the Mercers were promoted.

In time, the name grocer came to refer to a trader who dealt in staple foodstuffs—like tea, coffee, cocoa, sugar, and flour—that were sold in amounts measured for personal consumption. The first known use of the word grocery was in the 15th century, and it referred to the goods sold by a grocer:

Wee bene ageyne charged wyth merceyre, Haburdasshere ware, and wyth grocerye.
— Libel of English Policy, 1436.

The Libelle of Englyshe Polycye (or Libel of English Policy) is a fifteenth-century poem written after the siege of Calais in 1436 but before the end of 1438, and a second edition of the work before June 1441. I haven’t read the thing and it is not particularly relevant to the subject of groceries but I enjoyed finding out about it.

Upmarket Victorian Grocery

In the Supermarket Basket

a bottle of Guinness
small pizza
extra cheese
and a scrunched up note

apps and bans
2 x yell and red pep
halloumi
250g dark choc
wine

a serious list
divided into sections
of dairy and fruit etc

and only one of them ticked
which doesn’t seem right
and leads to thoughts
of maybe a mobile ringing

an argument about the car
or washing up
or a letter found
in someone’s pocket

and someone’s partner
stiff with rage
storming out after
politely replacing the basket
back in the stack at the Entrance

ready to be read
by the customer standing in line
at the Checkout
a customer who needs to know
about anyone else’s life
and more importantly
just what the hell is halloumi.


First published in Acumen, June 2016

Thanks for reading, Terry Q

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Groceries

It was a pleasant surprise to find the supermarket quiet this morning. We weren’t buying groceries, that was something to do online later. We’d popped in to buy a light bulb, mould remover and trainers for a grandson. Oh, and birthday cards in advance. I was trying to be organised. One stop shopping. How times have changed.

When I was about ten years old, I was often sent to Seddon’s with a list. Seddon’s was a small grocery shop not far from our pub, but far enough away to make me feel independent and grown up to do something important by myself. The list was my mum’s order, which Mr Seddon would deliver on Saturday. Sometimes, I would be sent there to get a Hales Granny Cake, or a chocolate sponge to bring home and the cost to be added to our list. We had a milkman and a breadman every day. Meat came from the local butcher.

I don’t know when branded supermarkets started to take over, but I remember a Tesco store opening on the high street in our neighbourhood when I was about fourteen. It was small in comparison to the megastores we have now.

I’m not a fan of food shopping, especially if it involves a long walk up and down too many heavily populated aisles. That’s another pet hate, people and shopping trolleys. I find it easier in Scotland where our regular supermarket is smaller but still has everything. I’m in a happier frame of mind there, too. At home, picking groceries online and taking delivery from a friendly, helpful person is hassle free and suits me perfectly. There’s a local shop for that forgotten item.

My Haiku style poem,

Tesco, Morrison’s,
Aldi, Lidl and Waitrose,
Sainbury’s and Spar.

Booths and the Co-op,
M&S Foodhall, Asda,
Iceland and Farmfoods.

No shopping today,
We don’t need more groceries.
We’ve got plenty in.

Room for just one more,
Tins of this and tins of that.
Shut the cupboard door.

Veg and fish and meat,
A freezer full to bursting,
Ice cream for a treat.

PMW 2026

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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From Russia - With Love

The ‘Beast from the East’ sent us a hint of snow to wake up to, here on the Fylde Coast.  A more substantial ‘white out’ further inland caused the closure of schools and brought transport to a full stop. Such extremes rarely reach us, but even so, I keep a well-stocked larder of tinned and packet food in case we can’t get out. I am the first to agree that this is hilarious, considering that there are two shops a very short walk away and we usually have our weekly groceries delivered. In my defence, I have explained to the mirthful ones that it isn’t only the weather I’m prepared for, but illness and disability as well, even though we live in a neighbourhood and not miles from anywhere in the far reaches of East Siberia.

I think I’d like to visit Siberia. I don’t know where it figures on the tourism market but it looks interesting.  First we’ll tackle Scotland next week. Hopefully it will be warmer than the -50 Celsius that Siberia has been experiencing.

When I was a child I picked up on things called ‘The Cold War’, ‘The Iron Curtain’ and ‘Eastern Bloc’. It was nothing to concern me, I was far too young to understand, but I was old enough to sense solemnity and worry myself about it to the point of nightmares which baffled my mother. It came from news bulletins, rather than adult conversations and affected me so much that I avoided having the news on as much as possible when my children were young.

Years ago, a work colleague was going on holiday to Moscow. She liked unusual places and always went on her own. It is fair comment that she wasn’t popular at work and those of us that had to put up with her hoped she might not be allowed back into the UK, the naivety of our youth. We didn’t get our wish, of course. She sent a postcard saying simply, ‘From Russia, with love’.

As a football fan, I hope that this summer brings something else home from Russia, the World Cup.

One of my favourite poems:

I Loved You (Ya Vas Lyubil)
I loved you; even now I may confess,
Some embers of my love their fire retain;
But do not let it cause you more distress,
I do not want to sadden you again.
Hopeless and tongue-tied, yet I loved you dearly
With pangs the jealous and the timid know,
So tenderly I loved you, so sincerely,
I pray God grant another love you so.

 

Alexander Pushkin, 1799-1837

 

 

Thanks for reading, Pam x 

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