These nauseating posters greeted me this afternoon on arriving at Waitrose to do some shopping. What really grates is the saccharine misrepresentation, which is a bit like a visual version of those really annoying female Classic FM disc jockeys.

It’s not ‘my’ bloody Waitrose. It’s Waitrose’s bloody Waitrose. And inside the place has been transformed into a kind of aircraft hangar while the ceiling has been removed to facilitate the installation of the so-called ‘improvements’.

Which ‘improvements’ were not commissioned to make life easier for me, by the way, but to increase the store’s turnover per square foot.