My corner shop got a charmless renovation

I know it's ridiculous to moan about your local store essentially becoming a Co-Op, but hear me out...

Yesterday I walked to the post office. It’s inside the corner shop that has been my local since I was little.

Back then there were two options to choose from for your 3pm after school chocolate bar; Mr Patel’s or Forbuoys (the corner shop’s original name).

The problem with Mr Patel’s was that he trusted no one and had a slightly creepy habit of following you around his tiny shop, thus always resulting in a rushed and regretful snack choice. Forbuoys on the other hand had Andy.

Tell me why I can’t remember the names of half the people in my industry, who I have dinners with on a bi-weekly basis, but can still name the man who ran the local shop over 16 years ago…

Andy was such a familiar figure in my life that I’m confident I would still recognise him now. Admittedly that would be partly due to his pockmarked skin - which I’m ashamed to confess I remember - but mainly because he was so kind and would always let you off if you were a couple of pence short.

When Forbuoys became McColls, Andy left and Shirley became the familiar face.

Shirley - who I’m confident would not have an internet connection to read this - got the nickname ‘Slowly’ from my Mum, due to the glacial pace she moved at.

Although, there was nothing more soul crushing than to walk in and discover Shirley was on the post office till that day, her almost comedic timing did inspire a form of fondness that means we exchange a mutual wave if we see one another about.

With the end of McColls came the end of Shirley and the end of any familiarity with the people who worked in my corner shop.

The layout never changed though and I could draw you an accurate floor plan from memory. Walk in, cold drinks and milk to the left, newspapers and magazines to the right.

There was only one aisle and it ran down the middle of the shop. On the right hand side were tinned goods and biscuits. Follow it round and at the end was a random assortment of sellotape and brown envelopes. The chocolate and sweets were on the other side, facing the till, but not in front of it.

It was a gradual change at first, starting with the crisps. Then the chocolates and sweets moved to the front of the till, which is a guaranteed move to make me panic buy something I’ll inevitably regret as soon as I walk out.

Then the door changed. It became automatic, which felt as alien as your grandparents getting high speed broadband.

These changes continued to be drip fed, until yesterday when I walked into a completely different shop.

There was no longer just one aisle. The counter seemed huge, with every bottle of expensive spirit you could imagine behind it. Who even buys Grey Goose from a corner shop?

In a sign of the times, the news section had been relegated to a tiny section to allow more room for chilled cabinets and my discombobulation was further exasperated by the new clinical white lighting.

I know it sounds ridiculous to moan about your corner shop essentially becoming a Co-Op. Especially when I know this new shop will serve me better.

After all, a loaf of bread is way more practical than an airmail envelope.

I also know I should be grateful that these local convenience stores can still thrive in a time when every time you sneeze Tesco opens another express store. But still, to see them ripped of all their charm, does break my heart a little bit.

None the less, the supply of Mint Twirls I spotted yesterday means I’ll inevitably be back.