The customer is no longer king in 1970s-style Britain

There are a clutch of gift shops not too far from me that are a peculiarly middle-class godsend and something of a cultural bellwether. They are the sort of life-saving emporiums where you can buy extravagantly wrapped bars of Italian soap for visiting in-laws, Penguin classic mugs for forgotten birthdays, and artisanal chocolates ruined with sprigs of heather or shavings of organic gherkin for dinner hostesses you dislike.

I used to pop in reasonably often. But not so much recently on account of the staff ’s bizarrely hostile attitude towards us filthy kulaks – sorry, I mean customers.

There they are, hiding behind their Perspex screens, glowering beneath masks and glaring at anyone who doesn’t slavver on enough hand sanitiser to undertake open heart surgery with the rosewood salad spoons.

They are not alone. Up and down the country, shops have been turned into hostile little fiefdoms where it’s abundantly clear that the customer is no longer king. Post-pandemic, we have been well and truly deposed in favour of workers’ well-being, mental health and work/life balance.

That’s all terribly laudable. But having got used to bossing meek shoppers around – Follow the arrows! Three at a time only! No face covering, no entry! – it seems as though they can’t quite relinquish their new-found position of power.

Covid has been used as a catch-all for all sorts of inconveniences; from unanswered helplines to glacially slow service. And public patience is running out. At the risk of sounding like Maggie Smith’s Dowager Countess Violet Crawley in Downton Abbey asking “What is a weekend?” may I respectfully suggest the balance may have been tipped a little too far towards the (whisper it) Seventies.

Consider the evidence; the looming energy crisis, the re-emergence of “potato brown” on the catwalk and the restive unions are all enjoying a (terrifying) revival.

Lorry drivers and warehouse workers at Tesco distribution centres rejected a 2.5 per cent pay increase offer last week. Bus drivers are to take industrial action as part of a national campaign over pay. And members of the University and College Union are planning to walk out at 13 colleges across England later this month for up to 10 days.

Add to that the job applicants thumbing their noses at employers who have the temerity to demand they go into the office five days a week and it’s beginning to look a lot like the decade of the donkey jacket (reimagined as a shacket) and ABBA who have felicitiously reunited to capture the all-too-familiar spirit of the Seventies.

“Our place in the world is shrinking: our economic comparisons grow worse, long-term political influence depends on economic strength – and that is running out.” No, not Boris Johnson flying out this week to build bridges with Joe Biden, but beleaguered bruiser Jim Callaghan in November 1974.

It’s not a good look by any standards – and I think we can all agree the very last thing we need now is a Back to the Future winter of discontent. We need to move forward and a good place to address the generalised air of grievance would be the high street. That change of ethos is down to retailers. Tragic though it sounds, a smile from behind a Perspex screen is almost as good as the real thing.