Supermarket in Bath

“Thankyou to the kind security guard who has just shown me where the straws are! Really lovely if him. Off to RUH to my aunty who can't eat and asked for straws.”

“I want to sincerely thank the young blonde gentleman who helped me today. I had two large Evri parcels, and even though the returns cupboard was quite full, he managed to fit them in without any fuss. His kindness truly made all the difference in my day, especially after a difficult evening walking all around town and dealing with very mean staff. I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name, I just wanted to let you know how much your kindness meant to me!”

“Doesn't look very big from the outside but it's actually a decent size. Well stocked and a good selection of vegan food. Great location, right in the centre of Bath.”

“I can't speak for the rest of the gaff but the bakery is a particular highlight - I once bought a raspberry croissant and found a pleasing note bathing in the jam centre that read 'you are worth it. I believe in you. This sweet treat and your purchasing of it seals the deal that you are special and you should know it. Love jasmine x'. Kudos and hat doffing go to this special employee for blessing my day and changing my life. I now believe in myself and lift weights and steal prams from skips to deconstruct and turn into fabricless tent structures.”

“Morrisons Daily: The Eighth Wonder of the Modern World If the Hanging Gardens of Babylon and the Taj Mahal had a love child, and that child grew up, put on a green apron, and decided to sell sandwiches, you would still only approximate the majesty of the Morrisons Daily. The moment the automatic doors whooshed open, I was greeted not by staff, but by a radiant beam of light that I can only assume was divine in origin. The fruit and veg display was arranged with such geometric precision that Euclid himself would have wept. I picked up a banana so perfectly yellow it looked as if it had been Photoshopped by the angels. The staff, meanwhile, are clearly not of this Earth. Each member of the team glided across the floor with balletic grace, somehow scanning groceries, restocking shelves, and offering life advice simultaneously. When I sheepishly asked if they had any more of the chocolate croissants, the assistant didn’t just check the back—he sprinted into the ether, wrestled with the gods, and returned clutching a warm, flaky pastry as if it were the Holy Grail. And let’s talk about the meal deal. £3.50. Sandwich, drink, crisps. I’m not exaggerating when I say it felt like a personal invitation to dine at the table of kings. I selected a chicken salad sandwich so fresh I could hear the cress still photosynthesising. My bottle of Pepsi had condensation so aesthetically pleasing that a Renaissance painter would have quit his career in despair. The crisps? Crunchier than autumn leaves underfoot, and twice as poetic. Checkout was a religious experience. The self-service machine didn’t scold me with its usual “unexpected item in bagging area” nonsense. No. It purred, gently, as if thanking me for existing.”