The special needs trolley had some early version of the electrical wheel lock which has been fitted to many of the trolleys from Sainsbury's, but it had not deployed and was probably no longer deployable.
On the other hand, the regular trolley jammed quite nicely into the front of the special needs trolley, which made pushing the two of them together a lot easier than it might otherwise have been.
It had started raining by the time that I had returned them to their stacks at the Kiln Lane store, and (carelessly) having neither rain coat nor umbrella about me, I thought I ought to buy one, only recently having recovered from a cold. Took a few minutes and two assistants to find the umbrellas, but I eventually left with a fine new gents umbrella for £10. I was impressed how little one has to pay for what one might think was a reasonably complicated and well made object. Something which a carpenter or a metal worker might knock up, after a fashion, in the shed at home, but which would be nothing like as convenient as the real thing and cost a lot more time than £10's worth. Thus illustrating the power of capital.
I am now left wondering how much the machine - or machinery - needed to manufacture such things might cost. How much capital does one have to deploy and how many umbrellas would one need to sell to make it pay?
But I was glad that I had bought it, as it came on to rain quite heavily for part of the way home. A way which was enlivened by a cheerful clucking of hens and crowing of cockerels from somewhere near the Screwfix underpass - and further enlivened by a discussion of the delights of Bassett's liquorice allsorts while I bought my newspaper. In particular, something called a Catherine Wheel, which sounded vaguely familiar, but which I could not bring to mind. Unlike BH who knew all about them.
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