Make Britain thin again – in five easy steps

Strolling languorously down the well-stocked aisles of Waitrose, snatching a pack of sashimi here and a of box lavender shortbread there, has long – at least in my universe – defined what it means to be middle class and proud. Is anything more therapeutic?

But, as we learned this week, a seismic shift has been taking place in the heated, class-conscious domain of British supermarket preference. Waitrose, the very hallmark of affluent stability, has lost its place as the seventh biggest grocer in Britain to… Lidl.

The German discount grocer known for its dirt-cheap herrings and bargain basement chocolate increased its market share to 5.2 per cent, pushing Waitrose down to eighth place, in front of just Iceland and Ocado. (Tesco has the largest share of the UK market, at 28.8 per cent, followed by Sainsbury’s).

How can this be? The truth is that even the staunchest Waitrose loyalists have become seduced by Lidl’s dogged, Germanic charms – myself included.

I don’t talk much about my furtive trips to the Kentish Town shop to stock up on £9.99 champagne (Lidl’s boost has much to do with alcohol sales). And few know about my sly visits to the larger Cricklewood branch for bulk buys of sausages, smoked salmon and nuts.

Naturally, I hate the packaging, with its childish script and uniform plastic. The silken fibres, vibrant colours and elegant fonts that are Waitrose’s hallmarks are much nicer. But Lidl products are cheaper and, whisper it, tasty as well. Indeed, towards the end of his life, aged 95, my Berlin-born grandfather insisted on a diet of cured meats and herrings from Lidl.

Certainly, the shop floor is dreary, and the checkout line truly depressing. But at the end of the day, as you crack open the buckets of mixed nuts, rivers of smoked salmon, and champagne by the case, who really cares?

Sorry, Waitrose.