Receipts the length of my arm
The receipt is an ecosystem. It has a title, a loyalty tier, an invitation to rate us, a QR code, and, somewhere near the end, what you bought.
Plain-spoken columns about everyday British bother.
Grumpy, fair, family-safe. Newest first.
The receipt is an ecosystem. It has a title, a loyalty tier, an invitation to rate us, a QR code, and, somewhere near the end, what you bought.
The widget says "Hi! I'm here to help." It is not here to help. It is here to delay you until you give up.
A council car park used to want pound coins. Now it wants your mobile number, your postcode, and a small monthly surcharge.
Buying a train ticket in Britain is a short exam, and the answer you give decides how much you pay for sitting on the same seat.
Consent was supposed to give the reader a choice. In practice it has given us a toll-booth on every page.
Every other month a familiar app arrives new, polished, and oddly smaller. The button has moved. The bit you relied on has gone away for your own good.