What I Learned About Worklessness in a Supermarket Café

Dominic Cummings earned himself the moniker ‘Svengali’ by, as far as I can work out, talking to people in Wetherspoons and listening to what they had to say. Which was essentially that they didn’t like the EU. Wow. All the next political ‘Svengali’ needs to do if they want to sort out the worklessness problem in Britain is to… drum roll… talk to people in Morrisons cafés.

Peter Hitchens agreed recently with Aaron’s Bastani’s X post where he lamented the Establishment’s detachment from the rest of the country. Which MP or civil servant or charity/NGO boss, or indeed journalist, would consider having lunch at the Morrisons café in Totton, Southampton with the assorted bunch of unemployed, men in high vis, unskilled, upskilling and retired? None obviously. Well, they should; for there they will discover why certain people are working and others are not.

I usually haunt the sorts of cafés where post-yoga macchiatos cost £4.80 and the staff are better dressed than I am, but recent work has led me to spend time in a variety of supermarket and boarded-up shopping centre cafés. There I have discovered a way of life entirely removed from the Westminster elite. Like Wetherspoons, it is a world that is cheap and friendly to those who find life difficult and want a straightforward good time.

Fraser Nelson may highlight the fact that 5.6 million are on out of work benefits by running a series of graphs on the Spectator data hub, but he would be better off hiring a mini-bus and taking the Department for Work and Pensions for lunch in a supermarket café and talking to people.

I had cause to drive recently to a café in the deep recesses of a deprived coastal town. Like the naive moron that I am, I thought a farmers’ market must be on, so busy was the high street. It was only on parking up and walking to my destination (Costa Coffee in a precinct) that I realised all the street activity was from the hoards of workless enjoying the sunshine and taking their toasties outside. Women my age (45) with no teeth were laughing their heads off with men who were too young to have retired. Everyone was vaping.

My husband insists that MPs and the like have visited ‘cafés’ before. I am not so sure; not these sort. It is the timing that is important. Working folk are busy during the day. They might visit a ‘café’ in the morning to grab their long black and feel the buzz of being with other people ‘going to work’. The vibe at a daytime supermarket/shopping precinct café is an altogether different energy: the genuine camaraderie of those who understand they are a burden to others but are still deserving of good customer service.

I’ve become friendly with those whose paths I now regularly cross. They are just as annoyed at the state of the country as everybody else.

“Look at that,” said one chap wearing now redundant high vis, a memory of another life in work, “the council don’t give a shit about us”. He pointed to a pile of rubbish bags that blighted the entrance to the shopping precinct. I’ve had many conversations now with people who explain to me the fine tuning of their ‘payments’ and ‘credits’ and ‘rent’ and ‘benefits’ and how many hours they would have to work to make the same amount. “There just isn’t that sort of job for me,” said one woman with a 20-year-old son with no job (or qualifications) still living at home, “Not with my responsibilities,” she added. Later that day they were going to the food bank and then a jumble sale.

At the superb Morrisons Café in Totton, Southampton today I was greeted like an old friend. “Sit down there dearie, that’s it, we’ll bring your pie to you.” Most tables were full of various people in need, as well as others in hard hats. There was not one person on a laptop. The woman who ran the café with obvious pride knew the majority of customers by name and stood and laughed when handing over the all-day breakfast (the same price as a double macchiato). The atmosphere is invariably jolly with a strong sense of belonging.

And these decent folk want the same things as me and you: enough money to buy their chosen pleasure and their family to have a chance. If welfare provides sufficient funds, then they will not bother to leave this friendly café culture. If welfare doesn’t provide this, and work offers something better than a cheap hot drink and a laugh with a bunch of mates, then they will work.

Move over Cummings, for I am the Svengali now.

Joanna Gray is a writer and confidence mentor.