If a baby rhinoceros wearing Lederhosen and lipstick settled down in the station forecourt and started to play the spoons, I don’t think it could cause as much social unrest as the refurbishment of Waitrose has done.

Yes, it is a major refurbishment, and in a small town like lovely Surbiton, refurbishments big or small will take time to get used to. The first rule, in unsettling situations such as renovations of branches of major supermarket chains, is to undertake a practice run. I know this, which is why I have already patrolled the aisles of the new-look Waitrose, getting my bearings, raising my eyebrows at controversial relocations of items—the nifty swapping of the baked goods and wine sections, for example—and muttered to myself things like ‘Ah, the cheese counter has moved a little to the right, I see’, and ‘An interesting use of freezer space, there’, because I know the fundamental importance of performing this exercise before one embarks on a Big Shop.

It was during this practice run that I witnessed the bewilderment into which many Surbiton residents have been thrown. Whilst I was drooling quietly over the cakes (in their proud new position at the front entrance), a fraught-looking woman stopped dead at the doors, stared aghast ahead of her, and said out loud ‘Dear Lord, what has happened here?’. I felt for her; right then, it seemed that nothing in her life would ever be the same again.

Another woman, standing forlornly amongst the baked goods like a sailor lost at sea, muttered ‘So much bread. I’m sure there’s more bread than there was. This is a confusing amount of bread.’ She was faced with that perilous concept that often comes hand-in-hand with improvement: Too Much Choice. When normally she would confidently pluck her loaf of malted granary from its rightful place and smile happily at the joy it will bring her family, she was now cruelly tossed into an ocean of multiple wheat-based variety—not to mention the sizeable lake of wheat-free selections—and she was clearly frightened.

The bakery section seems to be causing strife for several shoppers; my heart went out to the elderly gentleman, wandering aimlessly with despair on his face, who eventually had to reach an imploring hand to a young assistant and whimper ‘Where have you hidden the crumpets? I just want to find the crumpets.’ His habitual route to those friendly packets of porous dough, a route forever etched into his heart, had been obliterated. Thankfully, the helpful assistant led him to safety, and delivered a pack of eight into his trembling hands, whereupon he gazed gratefully into her eyes and whispered ‘Thank you. Thank you.’

But this was small fry compared to the mental and emotional turmoil I witnessed between two women by the kitchen roll:

Woman 1: I didn’t realise they’d still sell Waitrose stuff.
Woman 2: I’m sorry?
Woman 1: After changing hands, I didn’t think they’d still do Waitrose products.
Woman 2: Changing hands?
Woman 1: Yes, to Sainsbury’s.
Woman 2: Er, it hasn’t changed hands, they’ve just refurbished. It’s still Waitrose.
(Pause.)
Woman 1: Oh, for God’s sake! So what’s happened to Sainsbury’s?
Woman 2: Nothing, it’s still down the high street.
Woman 1: (Slamming her full basket down and storming off) Oh, I don’t believe this.

As well as this renovation clearly having a profound effect on Surbiton’s mental state, it is also a momentous talking point. As I was contemplating the ice cream assortment, a manager strolled past, deep in conversation with a chattering elderly lady who was giving him her in-depth opinion on the changes: she particularly liked the new position of the milk and juices, had been a little disappointed there weren’t more modifications to the fruit and veg section, but especially liked the new, spacious feel to the place. Finally, she cocked her head to one side, put a quizzical finger to her chin, and said, ‘Now, tell me, have you changed the width of the aisles?’

For people who do their weekly, or twice, or even thrice-weekly shop in the same store, a transformation like this is bound to rock their boats. For the two elderly ladies standing in front of the opening hours board, earnestly discussing whether a half hour had been added or subtracted here and there, this has been an event of extreme magnitude around which they must adapt their daily routine. For the young man who hurried into the store to be immediately faced with a startling amount of bread and thus mutter ‘Oh God, the beer used to be here!’, it is probably not something that will affect his day-to-day existence, but it will almost definitely offer some snags along the way.

This is not to say that the refurbishment of Waitrose is a bad thing; I think it looks lovely. After all, who wanted to walk into an entrance lobby full of alcohol first thing in the morning? The smell of freshly-baked bread is a far more pleasing prospect, especially for the man who gushed to his wife: ‘A cake counter! Fantastic! Now I can have a flapjack within six seconds of entering the shop, and I can dribble over the window while I’m waiting for the bus’.

Good people of Surbiton, be brave. After the first few tumultuous visits, you will forget there has ever been a change. In the meantime, floorplans, directions, and some carefully labeled Polaroids may help.