On Thursday we began the long journey back from Tenerife to our boat in the south of France. Don't worry... we're not expecting outpourings of pity; the only reason the journey was long was a really really early start followed by a three-hour flight to Barcelona followed by an-almost four-hour wait followed by an hour's flight to Marseille. Followed by an hour's (delayed) train trip and a 20-minute walk. But that's okay. No really. It is.

While transiting at Aeropuerto Barcelona Terminal One, where we wiled away the time with a few wines - we saw a moving sight... a luggage trolley handler taking photos of... luggage trolleys, on his phone. We secretly named him Rodriguez, and imagined his situation, as he returned home that evening...

(Rodriguez closes the front door behind him, throws his keys on the sideboard, and sees his wife Consuela as she emerges from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron)

Consuela: Rodriguez mi querida! You are home at last! How was your first day at the aeropuerto, carino?

Rodriguez (shrugs): Consuela, it was overall a buen dia. You know, it had, like most days, its ups and downs. Or, in my case, its pushings and pullings!

(Consuela laughs delightedly at her husband's sense of humour and takes him in her arms)

Consuela: Oh Rodriguez, you are so funny. You should be on the stage!

Rodriguez: Si... and there's one leaving in five minutes! I know that old joke...

Consuela: But seriously my love, how did it go, your first day as a trolley wrangler?

Rodriguez (pulling his phone from inside his jacket): I will show you, mi quarida. Come, let us sit on the sofa... I have muchas fotos to show you.

(They sit, Consuela visibly excited. Rodriguez opens his phone gallery and begins flipping through his gallery of pictures)

Rodriguez: See here? This is a solo trolley, the typical model, with one wonky wheel always at the front so it never goes where you want it. This is one of the most challenging aspects of my job.

(Consuela tuts appropriately)

Rodriguez: And here... this is a line of 20 trolleys pushed together. Very heavy, and mucho difficult to manouevre, or even... womanoeuvre!

(They laugh uproarisously and slap their thighs. Their own, not each others'. That comes later)

Rodriguez (wiping tears of laughter from his eyes): This one though, is more typical... 30 or 40 trolleys in haphazard circumstance... in mucho disarray, all over the place. People, they just don' care you know? They treat the trolleys like so much rubbish, it's... it's... (his bottom lip trembles)

Consuela (placing her arm around Rodriguez's broad shoulders): Oh there, there, it is not so bad. It is a process of education that is needed. This can be your goal... to teach the filthy careless tourist scum some humanity!

Rodriguez (looks at her in amazement): You are right, mi quarido, you are so right!

(They kiss, briefly, his eyes sparkling. Then he turns his attention back to the phone): But look here... in the background of this picture of the Trundelez 5000 - the model with the automatic brake for going on the travelators - you can see dos Inglese, two English people, coming out of the aeropuerto bar after having a few wines. Now see in this next picture what happens...

Consuela (taking the phone from her husband and swiping to the next image): Madre de Dios! They have both tripped over the Trundelez and fallen flat on their faces!

Rodriguez (smiling broadly): Si... they were completely trolleyed!

(They laugh uproarisously, slap each other's thighs, and slowly dance towards the bedroom...)