There’s nothing sadder than wandering around a shop or business on the day it’s closing down.
The wife and I had nothing better to do on Saturday afternoon so we took one last stroll down the aisles of Tesco in Grangemouth.
It was not quite like a scene from HBO’s popular zombie soap opera ‘The Walking Dead’, but it felt pretty bloody close.
The once full shelves looked like they had been ransacked by Sheriff Rick and his posse - grabbing any sustenance they could.
My whole family was sad.
I was sad because I knew the store had been making a profit despite what Tesco claimed and felt despair at how powerless people were when big firms made their mind up about something.
My wife was sad because she had worked at the store way back in the day when it was a Willy Lows and because she knew for a fact only a handful of people who worked there, many for well over a decade, had managed to get a job elsewhere in the Tesco empire.
My son Charlie was sad because he no longer had access to the wee shelf with all the £3 toys and, a sensitive soul, he could also feel the general air of light grief that hung about the shop like a fine mist.
My dog, Moosh the Pug, aka The Bitey Moosh, was sad because he enjoyed Tesco’s own brand dog food and knows me well enough to realise I won’t be driving to Falkirk or Redding to get him any more.
Later that day I watched the latest rock star to gush forth from that musical geyser of Denny, Stevie McCrorie, belt out The Beatles’ Chuck Berry-esque ‘Get Back’ and mused, if only Tesco would listen to you, oh mighty voiced firefighter.
Hopefully the powers that be will ‘Come Together’ and make sure this vacant shell is filled pronto.