So why now? Rising costs, obviously. Energy bills are insane. Staff wages are up. Rent is a nightmare. M&S is basically saying, “We can’t afford to heat a room where people sit for an hour over a 90p cup of tea.” (Imagine the board meeting: “Stop the custard tart haemorrhage!”)
They’re pivoting to “food to go” – you know, the grab-and-go counters. That’s faster. That’s cheaper. That turns you from a guest into a transaction. You’re no longer a person having a moment. You’re a unit of consumption with a barcode.
Marks and Spencer closes legendary store and 14 in-store cafes as
It’s the same story everywhere. We’re losing the places that ask nothing of us except that we buy a cheap pastry and sit down. The library is crowded. The pub is expensive. The park is wet. The M&S cafe was neutral territory.
Is there any hope? (Or just the grey of a cold scone?)
Well, not all of them are going. M&S says they’re investing in specific high-footfall locations. So your local might survive if it’s in a major city or a huge flagship store. But the little ones? The ones in the corner of a small town department store? They’re the ghosts of Christmas past.
I’ve already started hoarding M&S cafe loyalty cards like they’re rare vinyl. I’m going to be that person who makes a special, solemn pilgrimage to the last remaining cafe in the county. I’ll order the full Colin the Caterpillar experience and eat it in silence, as a tribute.
So, if you see a long queue at your local M&S cafe today, join it. Not just for the macaroni cheese. But to be part of a silly, wonderful, endangered species. Because once the shutters are down, you don’t get that feeling back. And I, for one, am not ready to say goodbye to the tray with a squeaky corner.
P.S. If you need me, I’ll be in the corner of the M&S in Marble Arch, clutching a lemon drizzle cake and listening to Radio 4. Don’t bother me. It’s a holy place now.
