I actually gasp when I read the news. “Sainsbury’s is closing down!” I tell my husband, waving my phone in his face. “Which Sainsbury’s?” he asks, as if any other counts. “The Sainsbury’s, in town. I can’t believe it.” He looks bemused at my reaction. Why do I care? It’s not our big-shop shop, just the place I pick up odd bits. There’s another, cavernous Sainsbury’s nearer us, but this one is special.
“Sainsbos is closing?!?” I WhatsApp my sister, who will know I mean the one true Sainsbos: Foss Bank, our childhood local. “What will we do?” It’s strange, but good, that we are both back in York after spending most of our adult lives in other countries: we will need each other’s emotional support to cope with this cataclysm.
