Over the years I have spent a lot of money on therapy. I have also spent a lot of money at Waitrose, which has a large branch that I like to call the ‘flagship’, very close to where I live. Of the two, therapy and Waitrose, Waitrose has probably given me the most psychological relief and has certainly been better value overall. Items may cost a little more than other supermarkets, but entry into the store is free and there is no time limit for browsing, looking closely or touching the goods.

Waitrose has soothed me in a number of ways over the years. There’s its gentle but creative approach to customer satisfaction – the very best end of free-market economics. If women are known to max out their credit cards on shoes and candles to find peace and diversion, Waitrose’s amazing range of goods is, for me, a similar shrine to desire, whimsy and pleasure. Shopping at Waitrose is a kind of liberation.

Waitrose is not a store that rewards a quick in and out, which is why I don’t understand the point of Little Waitrose stores. No: you have to take the time to chat to the many local mums, local old ladies and people you haven’t seen for years but maybe once went on a date with.

Waitrose isn’t perfect, and perhaps its flaws are part of its overall appeal, making it more of a person or family thing. But those flaws are so numerous that you have to know how to shop there. Overall, though, one of the nice things about Waitrose is that its own-brand products are well-made – there’s very little of the horror stuff (corn syrup, invert sugar, E numbers, etc.) that appear on American shelves with astonishing regularity, for example.

How to shop at Waitrose: what to buy and what to avoid. The own-brand ‘Posh’ cheeses are very good, so if you’re short on time before a party, head straight to that section. Consistent winners are the Cornish Quartz Cheddar, the Smoked Goat’s Gouda, the Soft Deep Beef Chaource, the Comté and the Buffalo Mozzarella. They’re all in the number one range, but more on that later.

The deli section isn’t what it used to be (fat smoked chicken breasts and fancy, additive-free turkey cuts are gone). But there are still some must-haves: guacamole, anchovies and garlic and jalapeño-stuffed olives. Waitrose is particularly keen on pork – sausage and chorizo ​​appear on several shelves and displays. Of this flood of offerings, the best are the Comté and truffle saucissons, finely chopped and served with some of that number one cheese and one of the cheapest sherries on the market – my favourite is Williams and Humbert Alegria Manzanilla (£6.99).

The Cooks’ Ingredients range is perhaps Waitrose’s flagship product. Here you can find seasonings for every recipe and more. I added a jar of garlic paste and one of Umami, a Magimix of mushrooms, garlic, anchovies and spices, to my basket the other day. A sampling of the overwhelming selection includes soffrito passata, smoky chipotle paste, white miso paste, ketjap manis, tamarind paste, gochujang paste, tikka paste, jerk marinade paste, mango amba sauce and countless other jars and bottles, wines and sauces and pastes, almost all for £2 or less. Waitrose’s range of ready meals is impressive too, from Singapore noodles to a wheat berry and kale mix to a duo of Gressingham duck legs already marinated in seasoned oil and ready for the oven.

I’ve spent a lot of time browsing wine at Waitrose because I find it less obviously exploitative than a wine shop, where it’s almost impossible not to get ripped off and overpay. I’ve come to the conclusion that you can get a good bottle for £16, and a very good one for £20-£25, although at £25 you run the risk of being disappointed, as I’ve experienced with the Barolos, for example. I’ve discovered some excellent bottles in the fine wine section, notably Chatea de Rochemorin Pessac-Leognan (£19.99; could be £100), Noble Vines Pinot Noir, and various dry Rieslings from £14. I sometimes treat myself to an Amarone, which isn’t as good as the one I had in Venice, but isn’t bad for the price (£20, a couple of euros).

What to avoid: The soups are one of the company’s biggest travesties, having gone hopelessly downhill from their own brand to imports like Yorkshire Provender (snore). There was a fabulous gazpacho in the early 2000s and also a chickpea soup that I ate cold for breakfast – I haven’t seen or heard of it for years.

Among the more pressing off-limits areas are – to the bewilderment of many – bakeries. The bread, pastries, biscuits, cakes and so on are embarrassing and can’t compete with M&S. The bread is never fresh because they’ve closed their in-store bakeries. The same goes for dry, limp pastries too. Anyone wanting a moist cake or biscuit has to try their luck with pre-packaged items, all of which are embarrassingly bad – dry, too sweet, like something out of the 1970s, as if the miraculous, ongoing revolution of British supermarket catering had never happened.

Fruit and veg can be hit and miss. Sometimes I struggled to find a decent avocado that was ripe but not mashed up and grey. Peaches and nectarines can be good or terrible. Waitrose is brilliant at pre-packaged fruit – the chopped pineapple, the passionfruit and mango mix, the big boxes of pomegranates that go beautifully with Greek yoghurt.

Waitrose is struggling with its new product lines. Number one is a strange conceit and doesn’t sit well with me. Shouldn’t Waitrose be about being number one? The ‘Essential’ line is amusing – is tiramisu ‘essential’? Maybe. But it’s a bit like saying ‘I’m the bad version.’ For certain things ‘Essential’ makes sense – cottage cheese, dishwasher tablets, vanilla creams. For others it’s just off-putting, because at Waitrose you want something that not only tastes good but looks good too.

The same goes for Waitrose’s weird yellow label displays – shopping trolleys that stand at the front and are crammed with wilted or spoiling vegetables and other things. You can get some good bargains there, but they are so obviously on the decline that you feel like you should give them away. And if I wanted cheap short-lived vegetables, I’d go to the Aldi next door. But I very rarely want short-lived, wilted vegetables, and so very rarely go to the Aldi next door – as my wallet can attest.