I wasn’t sure if it was the jet lag or something else, my teariness at the sight of an M&S logo when I stepped off the plane at Gatwick. After 18 months living in Australia, my partner and I had been excited for many elements of our return to the UK: summer in London, access to Europe, the reunions with friends and family – these were the main reasons we decided to leave the sunshine and our beachside flat and move home.
But this part of landing back in Britain took me by surprise. Australia has plenty that the UK doesn’t when it comes to food and drink: TimTams, proper bakery pies, high-quality steak, genuinely good coffee. But since moving back a couple of months ago, one thing has struck me in particular: I am unexpectedly emotional about British supermarkets. You don’t know you’ve got it ‘til it’s gone, apparently – and it turns out our grocery shopping is, quite rightly, the envy of the world.
Mock me all you like but every supermarket trip since I returned has felt oddly thrilling. The £12 dine-in-for-two date-night offers, the tiny Gu ramekins everyone keeps at the back of the kitchen cupboard, the Mini Cheddars and the Jaffa Cakes and the bars of Cadbury’s chocolate – I can’t tell if it’s a patriotism thing or plain familiarity. But even the giant yellow Clubcard prices and the unattended-item-in-bagging-area announcements had an odd kind of charm about them. Have I really aged so much in 18 months that I go watery-eyed at the sight of a reduced-to-clear shelf?
