People in Britain are battling each other for cut-price food. This is what desperation and poverty does. Video has emerged of customers at a Tesco store in Weston Favell, Northampton, scrabbling around on the floor to reach discounted essential groceries – indicative of increasing and entrenched food poverty.

Customers filmed scrabbling on floor over cheap food in Tesco Read more

It might come as a shock to anyone who imagines that writers fly to work in their own helicopter with truffle sandwiches for lunch, but I survive on food found in the supermarket reduced aisle. Occasionally dealings around the cut-price food can turn ugly.

Every day, I see shoppers who desperately need these bargains, since for many, it’s the only possibility of eating properly. After all, a huge pack of reduced mince or chicken is a good source of protein lasting across several days if cooked and eked-out properly. But this level of thriftiness is exhausting, which might explain the frayed tempers of the Northampton food-scrum.

I order my day around the rhythms of the discount hour, which is different at each of the three shops on my circuit. Food is first reduced mid-morning, then again later in the day. Bargain hunters benefit from holding their nerve, as the real reductions are made later on.

I order my day around the rhythms of the discount hour, which is different at each of the three shops on my circuit

There can be a sense of camaraderie, and my fellow bargain seekers acknowledge each other with wry smiles. We even share recipes – I hear familiar voices discussing how to turn slabs of cheap smoked fish into a nutritious and inexpensive chowder. We sometimes help each other out – I reach food for shorter or older customers and in return, they help me read the labels (I have some sight problems).

The Northampton all-in, food wrestle-mania occurred, I suspect, when informal protocols which bring order to the demeaning experience of hanging around trying to look busy while waiting for the soup to be reduced, were ignored. Personally, one vital guideline, and a rule which makes me furious whenever I see it being ignored, is don’t be greedy. If you see massive packs of organic vintage cheddar for 20p (this has happened) please don’t hog them all. I’ve witnessed people loading stacks of gourmet pizzas into the boot of a new BMW, which if owned by the loader seemed to me a little unfair.

The etiquette of poverty-induced budget food-hunting decrees that you don’t barge in and grab stuff over the heads of those too polite to let go of their manners. Around the appointed hour of food reduction, a vague, straggly queue forms. When it’s just one remaining pack of prime steak, then who dares wins, but don’t knock other people over.

Supermarkets observe rigid sell-by dates. Especially odd, but useful to me is cut-price unripe fruit, citrus and even granite-hard avocados which are past the expiry label, but ripen up nicely when kept properly (next to bananas is a good tip).

My best discovery is that almost anything can be frozen: even eggs, which must be gently broken into a container so the yolk remains intact and keep for about a month. Personally, I relish the good bread (the only way a non-baker gets to eat sourdough). I head for fish to freeze and then, veg, making no apologies for turning right back round again to return if I spot a section being reduced after I had given up my cheap-asparagus quest (best kept in a small amount of water in the fridge.)

The main (unwritten) rule of food-bargain club is this: be nice to supermarket workers – they are your friend, and will occasionally give you a sly nod to indicate when they will brandish their supermarket price label guns. Besides, they are doing a hard job for low pay. Some are even on work-for-benefits schemes and privately admit they would appreciate the chance to buy cheap food themselves. So be kind not just to them, but all your fellow bargain hunters.