I’m a nifty nana, even if I do say so myself. I gird my loins with fortitude and a battle plan before I even head off to the shopping centre. In my tiny little car I navigate the gridlock traffic at the centre entrance.

Spying a gap I head off to the right. Now to find a space. So many cars, and so many HUGE cars which look like military tanks. I swing into what appears to be a space beside one, and of course some sweet soul has left their trolley there. So I keep on going.

With eyes on the back of my head, I am aware of those coming and going from spaces. I’ve been in several car park prangs where the right of way has been hotly contested. Avoiding pedestrians pushing trollies and phone gazing, darting toddlers, stray dogs, and trolley collectors, I finally find a slot.

Have you noticed that many of the parking spots are very narrow. Thank God I have a small car with a few dints already. Always keep my eyes peeled for those who fling their doors open with great velocity and then glare at me as if it’s my fault when they have done the dirty deed. I try to stay well in the middle of the lines so my car will not be photographed and shamed on social media as a car parking failure.

Finally, I hit the shops. One supermarket now has lightweight plastic trollies which glide like ballerinas. I do my frugal well planned shop, scan and pack my own groceries as every till is empty of staff, have a bit of a window shop at the other stores, and buy some cheap knickers at the department store. I get my cash out for the week so that cash stays alive in our society.

I steer my trolley back to the car. However, I’ve forgotten which aisle it was. Hmm. At least I’m getting my step count up so that’s good. However, it’s hot and my mini magnums are melting. In a sea of massive four wheel drives and every other kind of car known to humankind, I finally see my little battle and hail scarred blue car waiting for me, neatly slotted in between the two white lines. I unload my bags into the boot and thoughtfully dispose of my trolley. I heard a sermon once about how selfish and lazy people leave their trollies for the collectors, so I diligently return mine to the trolley bay. What a good nana I am.

I exit the busy car park at the traffic jammed intersection very carefully. There’s a grid lock so we take turns, hurling ourselves into the fray. I’m looking forward to getting home, unloading those groceries, examining my car for possible new dints and maybe have a mini magnum (but those are for the grandkids) yeah right. I always feel a surge of victory when I escape unscathed from the shopping centre carpark. It’s definitely a skill we all need to know.