My name is Matthew Nicholls. I was born on march 22nd, 1986 in Maltby, England. I entered rotherham like an astroid, having no clue how fucking important my being alive was going to change the wholesale food industry . I grew up as pointless and burger as zacs chippy (best chip buttes this side of the atlantic) with my parents, and my step dad martin.
Now, at the age of 26, I have travelled the universe and shared my genius with enough people to fill the old miller football ground. not new one though, its fucking massive. got undergrass heating and job lot . I’ve overcome a bovril addiciton that should’ve killed me and a wagon wheel addiction that almost did. I’ve drivd, droven and drivd again. In fact, I’ve drivd almost as many powered industrial trucks as pallets I’ve lifted. lets just for now at least, file that under the category of “FORKING HELL!”
So I guess I’m a loose cannon, “Living the life you can only dream of” as I once so rate goodly put it. Mick Pickles, the physical embodiment of fresh, frozen and… What was that last part again? Commercial Warehouse Control ? Well, here’s where things get interesting. You see, I am and always will be, a Forklift truck driver. I am and will from now until the cows come home, be a leader, no, an icon, in the supermarket rat race. But my passion is not forklifts, no. Wait, I know thats hard to hear, but read on commrades. ask anyone in morrisons (the branch in brambly, near maltby) and they’ll agree, I ironically am the front and center, high and mighty, plump up my plumage and parade it around for is in every way, and no other sucker comes close. I am not talking Aldi, Londis, One stop, Martins, happy shopper, not even the m & s’s they have at services on the m1.
I’m talking cranes. I’m talking oil rigs.
at this point be wondering what the hell I am doing here. Am I lost? Did I take a wrong turn? Surely I must be in the wrong place… You ask me ‘but nicholls, your a fork lift driver, through & through, god put you on this planet so you could shift frozen peas, and ikea overstock” Well, you are as wrong as wrong could be and then some. I knew what I was getting myself into and still, with the tip of me noggin and the tap of me toes i swan dived right into the deep end of the madness, the unstable ocean of insanity known as deep sea oil drilling.
My uncontrollable passion for lifting began at a very young age. I remember all too clearly on countless occasions singing and dancing around to bob the builders “can we fix it, yes he can” on this enormous stage to a warehouse of unmoved pallets, which, in reality, was a tricycle that i taped a spade to. I remember i wouldn’t ever use a spoon, my love for forks was so serve. and let me tell you, eating custard without the aid of a spoon is not a task to be taken lightly. In truth, I was consistently an offensively bad lifter until puberty finally released me from it’s weak, puny, horse meat grip. That never stopped me like. I found solace in every and any instrument I could use to pick up stuff. Age 7; dog shit scooper, on which I distinctly remember being a genius with. Age 8; fishing net which lasted about as long as it takes to badly learn not to fuck about with gypsies. Age 9; a stolen trolley from safeway, my first real venture into the world of shifting stuff. Age 11; wheelbarrow- at this point people were starting to not only acknowledge my natural ability with transporting produce, but also to encourage it. Age 12; My first garden cart, heavy duty, 30 percent of from coopers of stortford. Thats when everything changed. and nothing could ever be the same.