One manÔÇÖs struggle with the most infuriating shop in the world.

As countries go, Germany is a very good one. There are bad things, of course. Their language, while logical and efficient like the Germans themselves, is unexciting and sincere. Also much like the Germans themselves. Their food is a goddamn travesty (with the notable exception of the wurst which is probably the number one reason God decided to make the pig). And their history is, erm checkered. Lets say that. Germany has a checkered history.

However, Germany has given the world many wonderful things, for which we must be thankful. Their beer is beautiful, their cars are amongst the best in the world, and their football team is certainly the best in the world. If Britain does something, the chances are the Germans will figure out how to do it cheaper and better, and then sell it back to us. Look at the Royal Family. Just a German twist on an English institution.

So now we drive German cars, drink German beer, watch German football players and get outraged when a German goes to a party dressed as a Nazi, it only seems fitting that we should shop at German supermarkets. Enter Lidl. The German supermarket chain has 590 stores in the United Kingdom, and there are plans for more on the way. ItÔÇÖs cheap, itÔÇÖs efficient, and I utterly despise it.

Actually, thatÔÇÖs not strictly true. I despise it because I love it. And in turn, I love it because I despise it. The relationship I have with Lidl is one of total emotional turmoil; euphoria inducing peaks, as well as valleys of total despair. ItÔÇÖs seriously damaging my wellbeing, but I canÔÇÖt stop myself going.

Let me explain. There are things that Lidl does that make me really angry. Most of these things revolve around the fact that there are only three people working in the store at any given time. As a result, the queues at the till are so long that by the time IÔÇÖve paid for my shopping, IÔÇÖve already eaten half of it to stave off starvation. As a result, I have to go back in and buy more food, get stuck in more lines, and continue the vicious cycle until either death or closing time comes to rescue me.

Since any fewer than three people working the tills would result in a full-on hunger crisis and massive loss of life, Lidl put all their staff there, and nobody on the floor. This means that once something is out of stock, itÔÇÖs gone for the day. About two weeks ago, I saw two grown-ass men arguing over the last sweet potato left in the box. The thing is, I couldnÔÇÖt even blame them, because I knew as well as they did that there wouldnÔÇÖt be more in stock for another 24 hours. The poor bastard who eventually lost the battle (which was decided, by the way, through the infallible primary school rule that is ÔÇ£I touched it firstÔÇØ) had to drag himself to the nearest available sweet potato vendor, lest his family starve. Lidl are ruining lives here.

And then thereÔÇÖs the stuff that Lidl will actually try and sell to you. This is, by far, the worst thing about Lidl. ItÔÇÖs not that they donÔÇÖt have recognisable brands, in fact thatÔÇÖs quite a good thing. Most branded and unbranded products are damn near the same thing anyway, so if Lidl wants to cut costs by selling unknown brands at a cheaper cost to them and the customer, I canÔÇÖt complain. No, weÔÇÖre talking the actual stuff on the shelves pallets. If you want something like, letÔÇÖs say brown rice, youÔÇÖd be shit out of luck. But if you want Crocs with wooly insoles, you could buy them by the dozen. ThereÔÇÖs a section in Lidl dedicated to the most random-ass junk ever found in a supermarket, a place I now know as The Aisle of Shit. IÔÇÖm not going to list everything IÔÇÖve ever seen in The Aisle of Shit, but know this: the aforementioned wooly Crocs are NOT EVEN CLOSE to being the worst thing IÔÇÖve ever seen in there. How do things end up in there? Do Lidl executives trawl boot fairs for a living, conducting a bizarre social experiment to see whatÔÇÖs the dumbest thing they can sell to populations on a massive scale? Eternal mysteries.

And yet, The Aisle of Shit perfectly is a perfect visualization of the very essence of Lidl. ItÔÇÖs a place where no matter how many people walk past laughing at whatÔÇÖs on offer, eventually somebody will say to themselves, ÔÇ£Actually, I really do need waterproof trousers that turn into shorts when you unzip them below the knee!ÔÇØ And thatÔÇÖs LidlÔÇÖs raison dÔÇÖ├¬tre. I donÔÇÖt know what their actual slogan is, but it should be ÔÇ£DonÔÇÖt Pretend YouÔÇÖre Better Than Us.ÔÇØ In an age of austerity, people are starting to drop more and more of our pretences and starting to acknowledge that actually, we ainÔÇÖt shit. I can tell Lidl that their queues are too long, they run out of stock too quickly and that they have a specific section of their store devoted to stuff that was most likely stolen from someoneÔÇÖs garage, but they know IÔÇÖll be back the very next day.

And there are actually some genuinely good things about Lidl. Because they donÔÇÖt hire anyone, the majority of their stuff is cheaper than than the packaging it comes in. If it even comes in packaging. This is obviously good for the customer and an awful deal for the employee, but Lidl doesnÔÇÖt really seem to care that itÔÇÖs pushing the limits of capitalism as far as theyÔÇÖll go. And honestly, neither do I. In a world where I can do a decent shop for under ┬ú20, fairness for all can take a back seat. Then thereÔÇÖs the Lidl bakery, which is living proof that you can buy a slice of heaven for about 30p in the shape of one of their cookies. I honestly wouldnÔÇÖt be surprised if they bought in 20% of LidlÔÇÖs revenue on their own.

But really, the best thing about Lidl is that you never know what youÔÇÖre going to get when you go there. You could get Bad Lidl, where thereÔÇÖs nothing in stock, the lines stretch back to the freezer section, and you die of starvation before you can leave. This probably happens 90% of the time. But that other 10%, Good Lidl, is a consumer paradise. You can do a shop for easily under ┬ú20, probably leaving with something that youÔÇÖve never tried before because everything is so Euro, and you might even pick up some wooly Crocs from the Aisle of Shit. ItÔÇÖs the dream of Good Lidl, the dream of that 10% chance, that keeps me going back. I went in last week at about 8pm, looking for eggs, limes, and sweet potatoes. There was nothing there. As I walked out I saw the manager, and he smiled at me, knowing IÔÇÖd be back the next day. He was right, the smug prick.

By Jason Roberts.