THE WILD TROLLEY RIDE

Any day now it will be the end of the world. It will either be the North Korean child despot with a pudgy finger on the red button, or Israel making sure Iran never exports another nice Persian rug, or climate change, or Mick Jagger coming down with arthritis. The first question on everyone’s lips the day after the end of the world will be: what’s for dinner? And how are we going to procure it?

One of the symptoms of the end of the world is that transport will come to a halt. Suddenly all those Engen One-Stops and Total Petroports will have no fuel. So we won’t be able to drive to Woolies. And even if, horrors, we walk all the way, once we get there chances are the shelves will be bare.

But the trip to Woolies will not have been entirely wasted — the chain has recently introduced a very desirable new trolley designed by aerospace engineers. The chassis is a sturdy, lightweight alloy, the container part appears to some kind of advanced carbon fibre and, most importantly, the wheels go in the direction in which you point them. Unlike the inferior wire trolleys from Checkers, which insist on veering off to the left and crashing into a hulking, tattooed body-builder who is teetering on the verge of steroid rage.

A good trolley is the single most essential tool for surviving the end of the world, as we noticed in The Road, and as the downand-outs of our inner cities are constantly demonstrating. Sooner or later hunger will force you to take your trolley and go out and forage. This is a bit like scavenging, only it sounds better. But where does one start? Oh, I’ll just pick some fruit off a tree, you might say. However, it turns out that fruit is seasonal. There might not be any at the particular time of year when nuclear winter sets in. And there won’t be any aircraft flying in avos from Spain or organic petit pois from Kenya.

Anyone who had the foresight to put in a bed of tomatoes or beans in the backyard will be guarding it with his or her firearm. Which is second only to a trolley as a useful Doomsday item. So you are going to have to scan the road verges for edible plants. Good luck. All the foliage along our roads has spent its entire life absorbing exhaust fumes, so if in your despair you’ve decided suicide is the best option, go ahead and eat it.

We’ve all heard about morogo, a kind of wild spinach or chard that is reputed to be growing everywhere if only you knew where to look. But the problem with stuff that’s growing in the wild is that it doesn’t come with a nutrition label. We don’t know how much protein it provides, how many calories it contains, what the cholesterol risk is, whether it grew in a field that contained peanuts, or even if it’s just plain toxic. It doesn’t come in a handy microwaveable packet so it will be full of grit and sand and you’ll have to wash it first — but anyone who trusts post-Apocalypse water has to be crazy.

Then there’s hunting and fishing. This is truly a last resort. Fish, in their natural state, do not come boned, filleted and ready to pop on the braai. They are exceedingly hard to catch, and if you do hook one it will arrive flapping wildly, with its head still on and its eyes wide in fear and agony. If you find it within yourself to kill this beautiful, sad creature, you will find its skin somewhat slimy and yucky to the touch. You will now have to gut the fish. This is as awful as it sounds. A messy process that it so offensive you will lose your appetite and cast the poor disembowelled creature back into the water.

You might unwittingly crush a frog crossing the road in front of your trolley. Frogs’ legs are a delicacy, so you’re in luck.

Given all this, the best solution is to work for world peace, fight climate change, and pray for an arthritis cure.