That's what I was shouting to myself as I drove home this evening. Actually, come to think of it, that's quite a scary image - someone chanting to themselves as they shoot along the A45 between Coventry and Birmingham. It's the sort of thing that would probably qualify you for a Turner Prize these days.
Anyway, the truth is a little more boring. Katie had called me as I pulled out of the car park at work, and asked me to add some fish to the shopping list for my weekly retail experience. Having a bit of a problem with driving whilst writing stuff down (and being too lazy to stop) I resorted to reminding myself verbally as I approached Tesco.
I parked up and played the usual "hunt the trolley" as I made my way through the other parked cars. Miracle of miracle, there was one, on the path, right between two rows of cars. So I pounced, like a cheetah getting on with an antelope. Then I noticed that there was a herd of similar trolleys right by the store, so I left the one little antelope on its own and headed for the entrance instead.
I turned to see my discarded trolley, moving under its own power as a result of my earlier touch, barely missing the front bumper of a parked Zafira, picking up speed and rolling on, about to clatter headlong into a nearby Fiesta.
Ah. Bugger bugger bugger bugger.
Springing back to stop it with a muffled cry of "Whoa!", I patted its handle reassuringly, left it and went to carry on. It was only then that I noticed a rather puzzled looking chap in the Fiesta's passenger seat. He hadn't seen the impending disaster - all he'd seen was a worried man jumping out of the shadows, seemingly to offer solace to a lonely Tesco shopping trolley. There are some things that you just can't explain to strangers. So I didn't bother.
I shouldn't be left out on my own.