I now have the same milkman I had when I was 10 years old. He was the very milkman who made possible my final cup of tea the day I left home. Sure, there was a 17-year gap in our relationship – while I sought my not-much-of-a-fortune in London. But now I’m back. And writing him notes, washing his bottles and occasionally catching his early morning cart has been one of the strangest pleasures of coming home. It’s not just nostalgia; having a milkman has made me feel part of a community I didn’t even realise I’d missed.
In many ways, it might seem callous to talk about the silver linings of living through a pandemic. I have been lucky. Many others have not. And yet, it is human nature to look for respite and hope where we can. So I can say that since my family went into lockdown in March, six months after we moved here, it has been a pleasure to shop locally. I can’t drive and am avoiding public transport, so all my shopping now takes place within a few miles of my house. More than transactional, it has been my lifeline to the outside world, my only physical interaction with other people and a way to support those small businesses that we all say we want to survive.
Just a five-minute walk from my home is a little row of shops that have utterly changed my experience of lockdown. There is the corner greengrocer’s, full of dates, rotis, lentils, bags of rice, and whole watermelons, that has kept my family fed. Over the road there is a wholefood shop that hasn’t yet run out of flour, baby wipes, peanut butter or refills of washing powder, shampoo, laundry detergent or cleaning fluid. When I first went in, behind the counter was the very same woman I bought sesame snaps from when I was seven. It was like opening a portal to the past.
The jewel in the crown is my local hardware shop, with its sun-faded green sign and tinkling above-the-door bell. I don’t think it’s unfair to say that some of the stock – the odd teapot, bag of masonry nails or melamine plate – is probably as old as me. As our lives retreated into the steady routine of domestic distraction, this shop was my saviour. Bread tins, strawberry plants, clothes pegs, lettuce seeds, scrubbing brushes, bags of compost, gaffer tape, candles and screws; each one fetched off the shelf by the smiling, helpful owner and paid for outside on the pavement. He even let me borrow a trolley to carry home a particularly heavy load of shopping one day.
When I wheeled the trolley back to him, my two-year-old son came along for the ride, perched comfortably inside on cushions – a king in his carriage.
Our veg is delivered by a man in gloves and a mask, riding a bicycle with a trailer. Our fruit is dropped off by the greengrocer’s in town where, before lockdown, my son used to try and swipe carrots. There is a local butcher who will deliver free-range meat, eggs and butter – I just order online and checkout with PayPal. She wears her uncle’s signet ring and calls me “love”.
This way of shopping is far from new; I can remember standing in my granny’s kitchen 30 years ago, in the middle of rural Shropshire, and listening to her ring around the butcher, the baker and the greengrocer, ordering her food for the week.
I know I am fortunate. I live in a part of the world where I can get sliced bread, orange juice and non-dairy milk delivered to my door by a milkman who remembers watching me learn to ride a bike. I can peel the lid off a bottle of full-fat milk and be transported back to the creamy days of my childhood. Hopefully lockdown is encouraging more of us to shop the same way as our grandparents; locally and thoughtfully.
Shop local with PayPal
PayPal isn’t just for shopping online for clothes, it’s becoming widely accepted at local stores via their website or app, too. Send, spend and manage your money with just one account. Get started at paypal.com/uk
