For some reason I set out to have breakfast at Wetherspoons — and for equally good reasons, I did not.
Over the past few days I have been watching some thoughtful YouTube videos about the gradual degradation of our food supply — how once-respected brands are absorbed by larger corporations, only to have their ingredients diluted, reformulated and padded out with artificial additions, all while technically meeting minimum food standards. It lingers in the mind.
On the way into town I returned an item to Amazon that simply didn’t work. I am genuinely grateful for the returns system. With unseen goods, it is essential. I would not buy anything online unless I knew I could recover my money if disappointed. The process is straightforward: state the reason and choose whether you want the refund back to your bank or as Amazon credit. I opted for credit.
Then on to Wetherspoons.
Something made me pick up a menu — not something I usually bother with. I noticed the “Freedom Breakfast” had gone up by 21p. The tea and coffee had crept from £1.81 to £1.85. Beans on toast now stood at £4.02. None of these increases are dramatic in isolation. I can afford them. But it is the steady upward drift that unsettles me — a sense that each week brings a quiet nudge.
I paused by the door, folded the menu, slipped it into my pocket, and walked out.
My last breakfast there had not inspired confidence: a raw tomato, cold eggs, overcooked bacon. Taken together—creeping prices, diminishing quality, and the echo of those food-industry videos—the decision to withdraw felt instinctive rather than calculated.
Outside, I visited Sainsbury’s — as I often do — and saw two Jehovah’s Witnesses standing together. It was only about half past eight so they were on duty early. No one approached them; they appeared to spend most of their time in conversation with each other. They always work in pairs. Perhaps that is wisdom.
Further along the main road, a small car had broken down in an awkward spot — right by the traffic lights where the buses turn north and south. A little old lady sat at the wheel, remarkably calm. Or perhaps she was in shock. It is hard to tell the difference sometimes.
I mentioned it to a passing man. He shook his head and said, “The world has gone mad. At 85, I’ve had enough.” I confess I felt a degree of sympathy for him. There is a sense, in small moments like these, of systems straining — prices inching upwards, food declining, cars stalling at junctions.
I returned home and made porridge instead — dates, bananas, and a little syrup. Simple, predictable, nourishing.
And so the day began.
