Spar

Before I moved to Glasgow, I lived in York with a Spar shop about a hundred metres from my front door. That, in case you’re wondering, is plenty short enough to make a quick dash over in your pyjamas. During my three years there, I developed a very special relationship with my Spar. It was somewhat reminiscent of the advert that played in my childhood where the old lady sang a lovely rendition of «We got our Spar!» (Just me? I thought so).
Anyway, the point of the above was to help you to understand just how excited I was when I realised that there was indeed a Spar near to my new flat in Glasgow.
However, when I went — I was very, very let down! The selection of stock was small and confusing, and though the lady behind the till was perfectly nice — she just didn’t have the Spar worker banter with me that I was expecting. (Sob!)
I came to the conclusion that there was just no point making the trek to this Spar when the Tesco Express down the road was six times as big and quite a lot cheaper. (It’s also friendlier — if you’re into that kind of thing from your food shop…)