Not with a bang, but a whimper
|Not for cats!|
For the past 15 years or so, every Saturday Mr Robot and I have discussed what we fancy cooking/eating over the next week, and walked into town to get our meat. Do we need a few extra Asian bits and bobs for cooking, or some veggies that weren't included in the week's vegbox? Pop into Mac's or the greengrocer while in town. We have a coffee in our favourite café, whizz round the chazzas, maybe I'll buy a bath bomb or card from the little indie card/gift shop or some flowers from the flower stall. Now we won't be going into town to go to the butcher, we won't be doing most of those things either – I'll more likely pop into one of the Asian supermarkets or to the veg stall in Bath on a workday.
This is how small towns die.
I know, it's not the 1950s, and I don't want to live in the 1950s. I'm just not sure being stuck with no option in town but the supermarkets - whose meat is all inferior to the meat we've been buying, isn't all local, and is generally much more intensively reared - counts as progress.
Over the past few years Bradford-on-Avon has lost its butcher. Trowbridge had two; now it's got none. Mr Robot and I will drive over to Devizes to go to Walter Rose's main branch, and shop online with them, but it won't be the same as having a chat with Shaun, Louie and Cameron. I'll have to cook more for the freezer as we won't be going every week. It's going to be a big change to our lives and, I think, a really sad thing for my town.