The supermarket car park glistened under the greasy January sun, an ashphalt jungle full of abandoned trolleys and dented bumpers. I navigated my jalopy, a Mondeo with a purr that could charm a dame out of a mink coat, through the maze of stray trolleys and push chairs.
With a flick of the wrist and a growl from the engine, I reverse the Mondeo into space #96. Smiling to myself at all the other drivers who drove in forwards, I wander towards the store to buy Frosties, AA batteries and disinfectant. I wasn't about to call on Mags and make that mistake twice.