My dirty little secret is that my first job was for a local supermarket as the trolley boy.
It meant spending my evenings after college tramping around a piss-stenching multi-storey car park in Reading collecting the things and bringing them back to the store.
Most of them ended up stolen, but my sisyphean task was made all the more bearable by the fact that I could go up to the top floor of the car park and watch two offices workers in the building opposite banging each other every which way over a desk. I could set my watch by it.
Sadly, it all ended badly when I let the Sainsbury’s trolley lad in on my little secret, and his shouts of encouragement rather spoiled it for everybody.
But supermarket trollies is what we are here for.
So, so many questions to go with this photograph.
Why is Councillor Barry hiding supermarket trolleys in what appears to be his back garden?
What is he doing behind that suspicious looking bush?
How many trolleys does one need?
I know the answer to all these questions, and it explains why we can’t have nice things.
I’m not going to go out and call this guy a maroon, but…
I do not often address the subjects of these stories because it lowers the tone. But, sir, in a world of injustices, you are fighting a lonely and worthless battle.
And as a former trolley boy, I’d like to express my solidarity with trolley boys today. STOP MESSING WITH OUR TROLLEYS YOU BERKS.