First, you have to conquer the car park. It’s a sprawling metropolis of tarmac where everyone forgets how to drive the second they spot a space. You see a mum in a Nissan Qashqai perform a ten-point turn that would baffle a NASA engineer, all while her toddler throws a half-eaten baguette at the window. It’s chaos, but it’s our chaos. I once watched a man argue with a trolley return bay for a solid two minutes. The trolley won.
The Trolley Lottery
Inside, you grab a trolley, praying you don’t get one with a wonky wheel that pulls sharply left towards the bakery. It’s the supermarket equivalent of a limping dog. If you get a smooth-roller, you feel like you’ve won a minor lottery. You don’t, but you feel deeply smug about it.
