Think of your Boxing Day as a chaotic, unplanned sequel to Christmas. The house looks like a glitter bomb exploded in a recycling bin. The kids are riding a sugar high from three different types of yule log. And your only plan? To wear sweatpants until 4pm and eat cold stuffing straight from the Tupperware. This is prime “I forgot the essentials” territory. You’re not shopping for a soufflé; you’re shopping for survival.
You need bread for toast, butter for said toast, and maybe, just maybe, a packet of bacon to pretend you have your life together. But the local corner shop is closed because Mr. Patel is also having a lie-in. The petrol station is open but charges £8 for a pint of milk. That’s when your eyes dart to the Morrisons car park like a hawk spotting a field mouse.
The Big Question: Open or Closed?
Here’s the honest, no-frills answer: Yes, most Morrisons supermarkets are open on Boxing Day, but they run on a strange, “zombie-shift” schedule. Think of it as the supermarket equivalent of a hangover. They’re open, but half-heartedly. You won’t get the full, bustling Tuesday morning experience. Instead, you get a skeleton crew, a handful of brave shoppers, and aisles that look like they’ve been through a whirlwind.
All the shops that won't be open on Boxing Day this year - from
Typically, Morrisons opens later—around 9 or 10am—and closes by 6pm. But here’s the kicker: not all Morrisons are created equal. A massive superstore in a city centre might welcome you with open arms and a slightly confused-looking greeter. A smaller Morrisons Local in a sleepy village? That one might just glare at you through locked doors, its “Closed” sign glowing like a judgmental Christmas star. Always, always check online—your specific store’s page—before you put on your “fancy” (i.e., clean) joggers.
I once made the rookie mistake of assuming all stores were on the same “Boxing Day Charter.” My local Morrisons opened at 10am, but the one five miles away, in a posher area, didn’t open until 11am because, I assume, they were still polishing their mince pies. I drove there, sat in the car, and ate a sad, hour-old sausage roll from a garage. Don’t be me.
