Let’s picture the scene. You walk into a nearly empty supermarket. The staff look like they’ve been hit by a glitter bomb. Everyone shuffles around with the same haunted look: “Why am I here? Why did I eat that last mince pie?” You’ll pass a man buying only a pint of milk and a can of beans. No words are exchanged, but a solemn nod of understanding passes between you. This is Boxing Day community.
And the shelves? They look like a flock of seagulls attacked them. You can’t find butter, but there are exactly 237 bottles of eggnog left over from Christmas Eve. No one is buying that. It’s a monument to poor planning.
