Molly was walking down the aisle. Not to get married, or anything, unless it was to the packet of jelly she had just put in her Tesco’s shopping cart.

And by jelly she didn’t mean the ordinary store brand. Not that they were awful, but someone had once told her they made those out of horse bones. And while she didn’t like that imagine in her head, she still ate them. Because she really loved jelly. And they were cheap. And today she’d decided she was owed a bit of a treat, so she’d bought some proper fancy Hartley’s jelly, strawberry and pineapple flavours.

Other than that, some sliced bread, a few cans of beans (which WERE store brand, Heinz beans were only for special occasions like royal weddings) and a clip of special brew for her dad, who had run out again and asked her to pop by with a few pints.

There was only one person in front of her at the till. A woman, accompanied by a small kid that reminder Molly of when she was a little guttersnipe herself, seemed a bit stressed out. She was counting pennies, placing them near the till lady. Unfortunately, she shook her head and looked up at the woman; not with condescendence but with empathy.

Till Lady: “Sorry, love. You’re still short, I’m afraid.”

Molly’s heart broke as she saw the woman’s cheeks flush red, and looking down at her child with a look of embarrassment that she unfortunately knew all too well.

Woman: “Sorry, sweetheart. We’ll have to put the candy bar away this time.”

Molly: "Nah mate, I got you, innit."

The woman seemed surprised, as Molly rummaged through her pockets for some loose change. She found a coin stuffed between a used handkerchief and her keys and was pleased to see that it was a full pound once she retrieved it.

Molly: "Here ya go."

If Molly had been a bit younger, she wouldn’t have thought twice about trying to nick a few, but her Robin Hood days were over now that she had a job. Or at least, something that resembled one. Her wrestling ‘career’ hadn’t exactly taken off the way she’d hoped it would. The last time she’d won a match was before King Arthur had pulled Excalibur out of the stone, and Keith Richards was still a spring chicken. In any case, if she got caught nicking again her only source of income could be gone, and it’s not like she had many options out there.

Woman: “There’s nice, innit? Say thank you to the nice lady!”

Kid: “Cheers, miss!”

The woman bowed her head in gratitude as their eyes met, not too proud to accept this act of simple generosity in the way it was intended: simply a kind gesture between people helping each other out. In the end, they were all in the same boat. Trying to survive in a world where rich twats got richer and twattier while the poor and hungry got poorer and hungrier.

The pair moved on, and Molly smiled as she saw the spring in the kid’s step as it took the candy bar out of the wrapper as soon as they got on to the parking lot. Her own items were beeped through, and she retrieved her wallet.

Till Lady: “£10.95, love.”

Molly took a single bill out of the fold, and…

Molly: "Oh fuck me, I’ve only got a tenner."

Her hand instinctively reached for her pocket to search for some loose change, but she immediately realized she’d given away her last to the woman and the kid. And her card wasn’t going to do her much good either, her account was as empty as Noah Jackson’s knickers. Molly sighed as the till lady made the same face of empathy she’d made before. It wasn’t pity, because she could relate. Something told Molly she’d been through a rough period in her life herself.

Molly: "Know what? Keep the jelly packets. Hartley’s too fancy for a Tuesday anyway, innit?"

With that, it came down to £9.15, and Molly got 85 pence back. She tucked them underneath her handkerchief as she made her way out onto the streets of Salford, carrying her items in an old pillowcase. She wasn’t going to spend another 5p on a carrier bag. She wasn’t made out of money, after all.

She started to walk towards her parents’ home, in the estate where she grew up in. It was a short walk, around five minutes, and she cracked open one of the special brews she had in her pillow. After all, she knew her dad wasn’t going to pay them back once he got them. She didn’t even like the taste of it, she was more of a Carling lass, as it tasted smoother and flatter. But her dad probably didn’t drink it for the taste either.

Molly: "Ah, mate. I can’t even bloody win in a fucking Tesco’s. Sick of losing, if I’m being honest. And now they’ve got me flying over to Canada to face a bloke who looks like an undersized mortician. Still, glad I’m switching to Anarchy. Maybe a change of scenery will do me career some good. Gotta dig meself out of the hole I got stuck in.

This Mastermind sounds a bit like a condescending tosser, but that’s not surprising. Most of these relics are, happy with the status quo while the corpo’s and aristo’s sell off the NHS to the highest bidder. As long as they get their chance in the spotlight, they don’t care. Well Master my Mind and riddle me this, then. If you love game shows so much, how come I’ve never seen you on ‘I literally just told you so?’ Figure it out quickly, because I literally just told you: I’m fucking sick of losing. And I’m coming for your ‘ead first. We need some Anarchy in the UK. But first, I’m bringing the real UK to Anarchy, mate."