Morrisons sales drop: there's work to be done

Like-for-like sales shrink by 1.8 per cent.

In the 13 weeks to 5 May 2013, Morrisons saw total sales rise by 0.6 per cent but like-for-like sales shrink by 1.8 per cent. While Morrisons has experienced an easing in LFL declines during Q1, the grocer’s performance serves to highlight that it has continued to underperform in a highly competitive market. Moreover, while its current strategic focuses are sensible, and have the potential to get Morrisons back on track in the medium-long term, they will inevitably take time to bear fruit.

With the UK food & grocery market increasingly being characterised by falling customer loyalty and low volume growth, which is in turn being met with heavy promotional activity among the main players, Morrisons has been forced to react. To this end, there has been a noticeable sharpening of promotional activity with the grocer building upon investment into innovative campaigns such as Payday Bonus, with the launch of its new Our Pick of the Street campaign – which focuses in particular on fresh products.

Elsewhere, it has been much keener in seeking to communicate its key differentiators. This period saw a greater focus on marketing extolling the virtues of Morrisons’ virtual integration strategy, via the medium of a high profile television campaign featuring family favourites Ant and Dec, complemented by full-page spots in newspapers. The benefits of its sourcing and distribution strategy will have resonated well with consumers amid the horsemeat scandal which has understanding eroded trust in grocery retailers. Indeed, Morrisons was one of the few grocers unaffected by the furore.

This period saw Morrisons make further progress across a number of areas which are key to its long term health. It remains on track to operating 100 M Local by year end having acquired a tranche of outlets from failed retailers such as Blockbuster and Jessops. Morrisons also plans to have implemented its new Fresh food concept across 40 per cent of its portfolio by the end of its financial year; further strengthening its credentials for quality and freshness. However, while it plans to have a full online food & grocery offer for 2014, the specifics remain unclear. Moreover, its high profile discussions with Ocado – which are likely to lead to Ocado providing technological expertise, as well possible use of one of its distribution centres – have yet to yield any results. 

Morrisons continues to be a soundly run retailer and many of its current investments – particularly in relation to online and convenience – are set to leave it significantly better positioned in the medium-to-long term. However, it will continue to face short term challenges as it plays catch up with rivals.  Moreover, while the grocer is displaying greater adeptness in communicating its key points of differentiation, there is still much work to be done around strengthening price perceptions.

Morrisons. Photograph: Getty Images

 Managing Director of Conlumino

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Over a Martini with my mother, I decide I'd rather not talk Brexit

A drink with her reduces me to a nine-year-old boy recounting his cricketing triumphs.

To the Royal Academy with my mother. As well as being a very competent (ex-professional, on Broadway) singer, she is a talented artist, and has a good critical eye, albeit one more tolerant of the brighter shades of the spectrum than mine. I love the RA’s summer exhibition: it offers one the chance to be effortlessly superior about three times a minute.

“Goddammit,” she says, in her finest New York accent, after standing in front of a particularly wretched daub. The tone is one of some vexation: not quite locking-yourself-out-of-the-house vexed, but remembering-you’ve-left-your-wallet-behind-a-hundred-yards-from-the-house vexed. This helps us sort out at least one of the problems she has been facing since widowhood: she is going to get cracking with the painting again, and I am going to supply the titles.

I am not sure I have the satirical chops or shamelessness to come up with anything as dreadful as Dancing With the Dead in My Dreams (artwork number 688, something that would have shown a disturbing kind of promise if executed by an eight-year-old), or The End From: One Day This Glass Will Break (number 521; not too bad, actually), but we work out that if she does reasonably OK prints and charges £500 a pop for each plus £1,000 for the original – this being at the lower end of the price scale – then she’ll be able to come out well up on the deal. (The other solution to her loneliness: get a cat, and perhaps we are nudged in this direction by an amusing video installation of a cat drinking milk from a saucer which attracts an indulgent, medium-sized crowd.)

We wonder where to go for lunch. As a sizeable quantity of the art there seems to hark back to the 1960s in general, and the style of the film Yellow Submarine in particular, I suggest Langan’s Brasserie, which neither of us has been to for years. We order our customary Martinis. Well, she does, while I go through a silly monologue that runs: “I don’t think I’ll have a Martini, I have to write my column this afternoon, oh sod it, I’ll have a Martini.”

“So,” she says as they arrive, “how has life been treating you?”

Good question. How, indeed, has life been treating me? Most oddly, I have to say. These are strange times we live in, a bit strange even for me, and if we wake up on 24 June to find ourselves no longer in Europe and with Nigel Farage’s toadlike mug gurning at us from every newspaper in the land, then I’m off to Scotland, or the US, or at least strongly thinking about it. Not even Hunter S Thompson’s mantra – “When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro” – will be enough to arm myself with, I fear.

The heart has been taking something of a pummelling, as close readers of this column may have gathered, but there is nothing like finding out that the person you fear you might be losing it to is probably going to vote Brexit to clear up that potential mess in a hurry. The heart may be stupid, but there are some things that will shake even that organ from its reverie. However, operating on a need-to-know basis, I feel my mother can do without this information, and I find myself talking about the cricket match I played on Sunday, the first half of which was spent standing watching our team get clouted out of the park, in rain not quite strong enough to take us off the field, but certainly strong enough to make us wet.

“Show me the way to go home,” I sang quietly to myself, “I’m tired and I want to go to bed,” etc. The second half of it, though, was spent first watching an astonishing, even by our standards, batting collapse, then going in at number seven . . . and making the top score for our team. OK, that score was 12, but still, it was the top score for our team, dammit.

The inner glow and sense of bien-être that this imparted on Sunday persists three days later as I write. And as I tell my mother the story – she has now lived long enough in this country, and absorbed enough of the game by osmosis, to know that 17 for five is a pretty piss-poor score – I realise I might as well be nine years old, and telling her of my successes on the pitch. Only, when I was nine, I had no such successes under my belt.

With age comes fearlessness: I don’t worry about the hard ball coming at me. Why should I? I’ve got a bloody bat, gloves, pads, the lot. The only things that scare me now are, as usual, dying alone, that jackanapes Farage, and bad art. 

Nicholas Lezard is a literary critic for the Guardian and also writes for the Independent. He writes the Down and Out in London column for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 23 June 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Divided Britain