The checkout queue at this store is a character-building exercise. There is only one till open, and it’s a lottery. The person in front of you might have a single bar of chocolate, or they might be paying with a jar of loose change and a coupon for postage stamps.
You stand there, clutching your basket, making eye contact with the queue behind you. We are all in this together, comrades. There’s a weird solidarity when someone has a tricky barcode. We’ve all been through the “Item not recognised” beep of shame.
Location, Location, Location
It’s perfectly placed for the tram stop, which means you see incredible people-watching. You’ll see students buying posh crisps and a single banana. You’ll see theatre-goers grabbing a bottle of fizz for the interval. It’s a cross-section of Nottingham life, all squeezed into one tiny, bright little space.
And on a rainy Saturday, it’s a beautiful shelter. You can pretend you’re browsing the posh olives while actually just drying off. It’s a sanctuary from the chaos of the square, a pocket of calm with excellent digestives.
