Reviewing Bristol: Not one plain scone. Anywhere.

My housemates and I were looking our local Tesco up on Google Maps the other day. 

Somehow we happened across the Google Reviews. It had never occurred to me that anyone in the world might use up the precious seconds of their life writing a review of a store that is essentially just a giant hangar full of brightly-lit corporate meh, but they do. 

Somehow (and I admit I was fully intending to be trawling through the listings looking for a place to live this evening) I ended up looking at reviews of all the supermarkets in Bristol, finding them weirdly compelling. 

So now I am probably going to live with my friends for another month and not in a nice flat near the waterfront with the ability to watch ‘Made in Chelsea’ in the nude.

However, on balance, I’m happy with my life because I’ve read these reviews.

Being in this Tesco is basically like being in Waiting for Godot.

Picture Stuart writing the above review. Picture his face. 

He’s remembering how he felt, waiting, waiting impotently at the fish counter. His two trout resting on the ice, never to be prepared the way only Stuart knows how, their dead eyes glassy and unseeing. The unknown ‘woman’ remains forever absent on her cigarette break. Nothing was understood. No one gives a damn.

While Stuart was left in an existential black hole AND seriously considering Sainsbury’s as a result of his supermarket outing (N.B. essentially the same thing), Carol expresses her thoughts about the same Tesco more enigmatically. 
Does describing hot drinks as ‘warm’ amount to  good, or bad feedback? I’m not sure. But I’m pretty damn sure I don’t want any of that dry, badly-presented food, three stars or no three stars. 

The nub of the matter. Or… many nubs, and even more matters

There’s a whole subcategory of reviewers, who I believe we can label together as ‘perhaps not experiencing the joys of a wholly full and satisfying sexual life.’

I know what’s changed: you’ve been going there 2-3 times a week, buying up all the fucking plain pancakes, with your poorly styled hair. That’s enough to put anyone off stocking the shelves properly.

‘This section of the community’ may well wonder what kind of stake you’d have in the implementation of such a scheme… Sounds like socialism to me, my friend.

Also… ‘grocery-related products and the occasional non-food items?’  You gigantic prat.

This is a review of the in-house restaurant at Harvey Nichols, which (I believe) is a department store, in Cabot Circus, which (I know for sure) is a recently built and conservatively manky shopping mall.

A few things in this review that I enjoy very much:

  • He has assessed not only the diameter but also the thickness of his pancake.
  • He asked the staff to adjust the temperature of the restaurant. I imagine him checking with his girlfriend mid-awkward-conversation, to ensure it was to ‘our’ liking, and her silently dying inside as she pushed her single bacon rind around on her plate.
  • He found a view over Cabot Circus to be ‘a privilege’, putting him in mind of fine dining.
  • He clearly added the last two words after reading back through and realising that he might be about to be accidentally sexist. (Bullet dodged!)

Crazy about Port

Elsewhere on the internet, Sofia seems to be confusing ‘reviewing Tesco’ with ‘reviewing an evening I had in which a visit to Tesco featured.’

Finally: The Bobs with stories to tell

And then there are the reviews that are nowhere near long enough. We just get a tantalising glimpse of something …something that happened…something that probably all parties concerned still think about, to this day.

(…yet note Bob gave Asda Bedminster three stars.)






2 thoughts on “Reviewing Bristol: Not one plain scone. Anywhere.

  1. Pingback: Thanks for the creme egg, Red Sandy: sex clubs, reviewed | girl from bristol seeks coffee

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