WE HOLD THESE TRUTHS to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, they they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, the pursuit of Happiness and the ability to buy and sell yoghurt to each other whenever they feel like it. Particularly Müller Light Pineapple and Peach flavour.

Since everyone seems to agree that we need to scrap the Human Rights Act and start again, I thought I’d chip in with some language. And while you may think the tone of my draft is a little uneven, I included the yoghurt because it is best to be specific. It is no good going to the trouble of passing a new Act and then finding that you left yourself open to misinterpretation. The first test case, after all, might come up before a judge who doesn’t like dairy products. And then we’d be in all sorts of difficulties.

Yet while my proposed form of words may include too much detail, my suggestion is not entirely frivolous. Agreeing that mankind has certain unalienable rights has always proved much easier than agreeing what they should be. I’m simply advocating that, alongside the sort of rights that you etch in marble on the outside of court rooms — protecting my free speech and so forth — my freedom to do more prosaic things — pop out of my house and buy a potted plant, for instance — should also be protected. In other words, I want any list of my rights to pass what I call the Supermarket Test.

Every battle for liberty has a front line. In the battle for economic liberty, many of my friends believe that the front line is the rate of tax. And I certainly agree that this is important. But for me the front line is the freedom of supermarkets — big, fat, galumphing, supermarkets with 26 varieties of Coco Pops and large car parks — to conduct their business. And over the past 20 years it has been surprisingly easy to find politicians who talk glowingly about free markets and economic growth in the abstract while being antagonistic to one of their most obvious manifestations, the modern food retail store.

Those who fail the Supermarket Test — who support economic freedom in general but oppose it in particular — come from across the political spectrum. I remember well the look of distaste on the face of a Tory Cabinet minister when I informed him that I actually liked out-of-town superstores, and I remember too the words of one of this paper’s most distinguished commentators who, while not advocating the use of the law to prevent the spread of supermarkets, proposed that we all boycott Tesco, which, in his view, sold inferior bread.

What drives the antipathy to supermarkets is that their growth means change, and change is often uncomfortable. It is also inevitable. I’m sure that when the last blacksmith disappeared from Pinner High Street, some equestrians found it a terrific nuisance, but farriers were adapting to modern market conditions. The same is happening in the retail food sector and it is similarly irreversible. And, while it is often unpleasant when traditional livelihoods and customs are threatened, the benign consequences are far more impressive.

Concerned about food prices? Supermarkets drive them down. About inequality? Studies in the US have shown that the creation of superstores (particularly Wal-Mart) has disportionately benefited those on low incomes. The environment? There is far more chance of persuading the big chains to accept their responsibilities than the old corner grocer. Concerned about pay and conditions for shop workers? Organic food? Labelling? Supermarket chains have raised the bar in all of these areas. And most important of all, they sell things, high-quality items and downmarket items alike, that consumers want to buy. Like Müller Light Pineapple and Peach Yoghurt.

It is upon this final point — that supermarkets sell things that I, and millions of others wish to buy — that I base my call to arms in the battle for economic liberty. What I want is something pretty simple, really. I don’t want to pollute rivers or abolish employee protection or privatise traffic lights. I just want the freedom to shop where I like and when I like on a Sunday. And, at the moment, I can’t.

In 1994, after a parliamentary struggle lasting almost a decade, shopping on Sunday was liberalised. But it was done in a characteristically British way — in other words idiosyncratically. It is now possible to shop where you like on a Sunday, as long as the shop isn’t a big one (although if the large shop sells motor accessories, sits on a petrol forecourt or is run by a Jew who observes the Sabbath on a Saturday, that’s fine too. Oh and it’s also fine if it is in Scotland). However, if you wish to buy your yoghurt or potted plant or DIY materials in a big shop, then make sure you are not too early or late, because they are restricted to six hours of opening.

These restrictions serve absolutely no economic, social or moral purpose. They remain only as symbols of our inertia, of our inclination to hold back successful businesses in the vain hope that this will aid less successful ones, and of our fundamental lack of seriousness about deregulation and economic liberty. The Government has been considering the final liberalisation of shop opening hours. Alan Johnson was thought to be sympathetic, but things have gone quiet since his departure from the Department of Trade and Industry. Perhaps they lack the courage to act.

The Tesco that is closed when you wish to visit it on a Sunday should have a sign outside with all the fine words spoken by ministers about reducing the burdens on business, getting Britain working and cutting red tape. For while the shop remains shut, the fine words mean little.

I hold this truth to be self-evident.

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