Beanie and Clyde

I haven't been to Mr G's for a few weeks, and he thought I had been avoiding him. I pointed out he had turned down my mission signup one Friday last month, to which he replied that he had been busy with a meeting he later regretted attending.

Today's book of labels had plenty of ready meals, a staggering number (five!) of protein yoghurts, a large bag of walnut halves and other usual Mr G's staples. It didn't have the cabbage label as cabbage always comes from Sainsbury's naked.

"You know what I like." said Mr G, "Something that doesn't taste like paper."

I bought him the savoy cabbage, the all-time favourite.

"This is the best cabbage in this country!", stated Mr G.

The other five-a-day products for my beneficiary were cavolo nero and reduced sugar and salt baked beans. Mr G put two tins of the latter in his hidden cupboard that I had never seen him open before. The secret stash was in the kitchen, behind a framed poster of the 1967 Bonnie and Clyde film, French edition. Mr G explained that the storage was one of the last things made by his late father, a skilled carpenter, with whom Mr G built many beautiful things in the past.