Chapter One - The Shopping Trolley

"Well, I'm sorry but I just think that if people just returned their shopping trolleys, the canal would be a lot nicer to walk along."

Barry was harping on about his favourite subject and that was the obvious signs of society's demise, this time shown through the lack of respect towards trolleys. Amy noticed that it was a Waitrose one, usually the supermarket preference of the posher end of society and wondered which rebellious Bentley driving pensioner had deposited it there and what had drove them to do it. Probably the chauffeur.

Barry's rants were always part of their walks together. It only took one trigger to set him off but as there were so many triggers, it really was difficult to know where to walk nowadays where something wouldn't release a tirade. Amy had learnt to listen with half an ear, as she was now, retreating into her own thoughts, where her whimsical musings amused her, at any rate, and were rarely shared with Barry.

She was currently speculating on whether or not Barry was off his trolley or making her go off hers and smiled at her mindful wordplay until Barry stated, quite angrily:

"It's not funny, Amy. I'm not sure why you're smirking when everything is so wrong."

Amy looked at Barry's expression of indignation and tried to look chastened. Best to agree with him, she found, so she could resubmerge herself in her thoughts, like a toddler in a ball pool or an accountant in a bubble bath after a bad audit.

"Sorry, Barry. You're right, of course."

Barry's face lightened immediately. Nothing like someone telling you you're right to make that rightness happen. Taking her statement as approval he said, "I think if we could do something about this, it would be a small step to making the world a better, more considerate place."

Amy wasn't sure that tackling the issue of shopping trolleys in the canal was going to change the world but she could see what Barry was saying in this instance. But, she thought, it was not exclusively shopping trolleys, was it? That wouldn't be so bad but it was empty cans, dog poo bags, old cigarette packets, empty vape cartridges and horror upon horrors, the limp, heavy-ended form of used condoms, hopefully discarded by the younger members of their community and not the Bentley owners. I suppose, Amy thought, at least they're not breeding. Currently.

Humanity's detritus was everywhere. Although, the dog poo could be argued not to be humanity's fault really, Amy thought, as dogs would poo regardless of humans but at least they tried to disguise their product by doing that funny backwards scratching of the ground to cover it in grass. She supposed that humans did now pick it up and put it in those bags but she had noticed them strewn at the side of the path when a dedicated dog poo bin had been provided. She wondered about the conscience of those dog owners in their laziness: poo was still poo, whether exposed to the elements or wrapped in a thin black membrane and could still be trod on just the same with similar results. It seemed nonsensical to her to go to the effort of placing it in the bag by picking it up only to throw it back down onto the floor - was the bag like gift wrap? "I know it's poo but look at the lovely bag around it. And it's knotted. That makes it all better." Amy shook her head. The mind boggles, she thought.

"Don't you agree, Amy?" Barry had looked at her as she had shaken her head to dispel images of doggy deposits and defensive dog owners, and was mistaking this for negativity in response to something but Amy was buggered if she knew what.

"Sorry, Barry. I was miles away. What did you say?"

Barry's eyebrows knitted together and Amy, the champion of deflection, said "I was thinking about dinner and what you would prefer: steak or fish?"

Barry smiled again, his moods really were mercurial, and said "How thoughtful of you, Amy and in response, I will give it some thought."

Amy wasn't sure it needed much consideration as both would be served with chips and peas but she smiled encouragingly at him and wondered when he had become so pompous.

"But, back to the task at hand. I really do think we should do something about this," and he gesticulated to the trolley which was forlornly poking part of its stiff metal form out of the murky water behind them on an angle, their walk having taken them further along the gravel path. It really did look quite sad, Amy had to admit.

Amy had a sense of foreboding about this as she could see the zeal in Barry's eye, but chose not to mutter anything then, neither acquiescence or refusal, until she knew what she was dealing with and hoped that they could continue on their walk in peace.

*

She didn't have long to wait to find out what Barry had planned. He had spent most of Saturday rummaging in the shed, huffing and exclaiming and making a bloody mess on the lawn. Amy took some time out to read her book in peace, but she couldn't settle as she knew that this industriousness on Barry's part was the prequel to some other activity of which she may not want to be part.

But she was persevering when he appeared in front of her, just at a particularly interesting part of her book, just as Lord Nevis was placing his hands around the perfect waist of Elizabeth, the heiress, in an unchaperoned moment of high decadence which promised much, the corseted form accentuating her ample bosom, heaving with anticipation as the tall, dark, handsome (and clichéd) Lord leaned in to place his soft lips on hers and she tried to resist her longing for propriety's sake but...!

He announced his presence with a loud "Ta-da!" and stood infront of her, in their lounge, wearing some sort of rubber trousers, which in other circumstances, Amy would not have been averse to, only Barry's appeared to be oversized with braces and were accompanied by a black pair of wellington boots, the remnants of cobwebs disturbed still wistfully floating, like gossamer sails.

"Waders!" Barry exclaimed triumphantly, which preempted Amy's question of "What on Earth are you wearing?"

Instead, she responded with a demure "So I see," and waited for Barry to explain, which he inevitably would.

"I had a brainwave whilst talking to Nigel this week. You know, Nigel, from the golf club, the Captain."

Amy had no idea who Nigel was and was happy in her ignorance - the golf club was quite firmly Barry's domain - but placed her book down on the sofa and gave Barry her full attention. Lord Nevis would have to wait and she hoped that Elizabeth was able to too.

"He was telling me about how he had been fly fishing on some estate in the Highlands, and how he had ended up falling on some slippery rocks with his waders on. Hair-raising, it was apparently, as they filled like a balloon and he struggled to get to his feet. He said he knew what Mafia victims felt like with their concrete boots!"

Barry guffawed at this and Amy could imagine him at the golf club with Nigel, laughing for favour uproariously at this rather distasteful and macabre comparison.

"Anyway, he said that the only saving grace of that day was that when he finally waded to shore (although Greg, who went too, said he'd had to be pulled to shore like a tug pulling a liner and was screaming so loudly, a window shattered back at the lodge but he doesn't know that Greg said that)," Barry added conspiratorially before leading to the finale. "Well, when he got to dry land, hauled out on the bank, they emptied out his waders and he'd caught four fish, which was more than he'd caught all day with the line. And they were a good size too!"

Amy smiled at Barry's storytelling, wondering what this had to do with the waders.

Still chuckling to himself, he continued, "Anyway, this reminded me that I have some waders, I just needed to remember where I'd put them and that, of course, they would be perfect for the canal!"

He looked so pleased with himself, slightly out of breath still from his laughter and for Amy, it took a moment for what he was saying to sink in.

"And Nigel's wife is a keen fisherwoman and I has offered to lend you hers! Great news, eh?"

Waders? For her? For the canal? What was it that he was proposing, Amy reeled.

"So, I thought we could go tomorrow morning and fish out that trolley and do our bit to assuage the torrent of human inconsideration that threatens us at every turn!" He placed his hands on his hips, looking to all the world like a superhero posing for a publicity shot and added, "I'm getting your waders from Nigel today after golf."

Amy was a tolerant person but there was no way that she was going to climb into a canal to remove a shopping trolley. On a Sunday morning? And forgo her lazy morning with tea and toast in bed and Lord Nevis (and she supposed, Elizabeth)? Not a chance. She needed to think quickly and head this off at the pass.

Her mind scrambled. Was there something else that could be going on on Sunday? No. Barry knew they were free and their friends, Mabel and Colin were on a cruise so she couldn't use them. What about church? No, they hadn't been to church since they were married, 20 odd years ago. That would be suspicious indeed. Headache? She was overdue a migraine, her not having had one since Barry proposed that they walk up Snowdon. That could work. But something told her that she would need a long term strategy for this, to use to challenge Barry's vigour as this was not an issue that was going to diminish any time soon if she knew Barry. And she did know Barry.

"That is such a great idea!" she said, playing for time, "but, um.." And then it came to her in a flash of insight, how she could play this and make it a long game. "But, you know, thinking about it, we could remove that trolley, but I bet you that next Saturday night, some youths full of high jinks will push another one down there and then we'd just always be in the canal removing trolleys!"

Barry opened his mouth to speak and Amy realised that she had taken a wrong turn with this argument, that such was his determination that he would happily drag her every weekend to wear waders and sink her feet into the sediment into the canal, competing with algae, ducks and trolleys for space and so blundered on, hoping this avenue would provide an exit:

"And there's only two of us! What if," and again her mind raced to find an idea that would win, "what if, we got...help!"

Bingo!

And she expanded, "Yes, we could get help and ask our friends and really attack this..." Here, Barry frowned at her word choice so she continued rapidly, "...in a peaceful way by campaigning and doing a clean up or highlighting it to a group dedicated to it..." Barry was smiling at this and so she went for the coup de grace, "And you could head it up!"

And Amy watched as her husband's ego inflated in front of her, manifesting itself in his pushed out chest and raised head, the proud stature of a man complimented and flattered.

"Yes, Amy. Yes!" Barry mulled Amy's suggestion over, and she imagined it sloshing in his head, like a wine taster pushing a fine red around their palate, searching for the tones of oak and raspberry and an overtone of summer sunshine before declaring fierce approval for it.

"Yes! It's a wonderful idea! And I am the perfect man to head it up!"

Amy was pleased with Barry's enthusiasm but was also a little surprised about it and his lack of modesty. But then she should know by now not to be surprised.

He was really starting to warm to the idea and Amy again could see this in his arm movements and his posture.

"We could ask Colin and Mabel! And I could approach people from the golf club! I could really start a revolution!" Barry was almost shouting with excitement. "I'll get on the phone to Colin now!"

With the strange noise that only rubber can make when forced to move quickly, Barry turned to go.

She didn't want to burst his balloon or at least she told herself that but the speed at which he had accepted her idea was unprecedented and so, in a bid to add moderation to something that was, in front of her eyes beginning to snowball, she said, quite reasonably,

"Colin and Mabel are on that cruise at the moment. Until a week on Tuesday. Maybe we should wait until they get back before doing anything?"

Barry had been heading towards the telephone table, arms propelling him quickly as he strode, squeaking slightly, but hearing Amy's words, he stopped in his tracks.

Again, attuned to her husband's moods as only a wife can be, she added,

"I mean, you want to do it right, don't you? If this becomes as big as you think it will be, maybe coverage in the local paper or local news, perhaps? I know how you always want to do a proper job, so maybe we should just wait until they get back and mention it to them then?"

Although she could not see his face, Amy knew that he was once more digesting what she had said with a view to deciding how he would act in light of it. But her choice of words had been masterful, appealing to his vanity and sense of self with mention of media and doing things properly and so, he stopped.

"You may be right, Amy," he said, turning towards her but looking off into the distance, out of the window - his thinking pose.

Amy knew that she had stopped him and bought some time. Usually, delaying action meant that another issue came to the fore in the meantime and overrode any further action and so, with this in mind, Amy was sincerely hoping that wading in the conduits that were the vestiges of Britain's industrial past would not be in her near distant future.

"If you don't mind, I'll head off to the driving range a little earlier. I always find I do my best thinking at the range," Barry said, starting to slip off the braces from his shoulders and kicking out with his foot to loosen a wellington for removal.

Amy smiled at him and said, "Of course," and soon, he left the room, still trying to extricate himself from the waders, boots now removed, and she settled herself down into the sofa, picked up her book and said quietly to herself,

"Now, Lord Nevis. Where were we?"

She was pleased with how well she had dealt with the situation and had an afternoon of peaceful but raunchy reading ahead of her. But her peace was to be short-lived as Amy had only bought some time and was about to discover exactly how determined Barry could be about the issue of shopping trolleys.

***

I find the challenges that ask for the first chapter of something quite tricky. I suppose the view is that you are to expand on this first chapter further and develop it into a book, a novel all of your own. I've completed two of these first chapter challenges and not written a book as a result.

However, I enjoy the exercise and this challenge in particular appealed to me. I have chosen to write a chapter which I think is quintessentially and traditionally British. This is not a modern British novel but draws on my memories and awareness of many things.

Some are personal in terms of phrasing and idioms I might use, heard from relatives and in conversations. Some are cultural - what I know about Britain. In particular, I have drawn on the sense that older British people have about manners and politeness and battling the lack of these through meetings and groups. And the naming of a posh British supermarket.

I have thought about TV shows like Victor Meldrew in One Foot in the Grave and Ever Decreasing Circles with Richard Briars, where men get irate about issues, and their long suffering wives try and assuage them and deter them. I am conscious that this won't have much relevance to an international audience but I felt like I ought to cite my influences for context. I also feel that part of my sense of being British comes from these things and it is what I can write about most effectively.

Britain is also renowned for its sarcasm and dry wit and humour and I have tried to replicate that in the tone of this piece, through Amy's observations.

And any British person will tell you that shopping trolleys are the stalwart object found in the majority of Britain's canals. That, and an old boot, which is always found if you'd care to take your fishing rod to them. I think I'd much prefer to discover an otter or a kingfisher but you are most likely to find a trolley.

This is perhaps the most British thing about the whole piece.