As Mr Keith Timms places the bag of karela which Mrs Trixie Barley had intended to buy back in its appointed slot on the vegetable rack, he is approached by Mr Tod Wilson, a somewhat cautious and indecisive elderly man who has already wandered round the shop for fifteen minutes without putting anything in his wire basket. Apart, that is, from a quarter-bottle of red wine. “Could you help me?” “I’ll do my best, Sir,” replies the boy. He enjoys customer contact, as the management like to call it. Most of the people who shop in this place can’t see what’s right in front of their noses, and it gives him small buzzes of pleasure to be able to point things out to them. He does, you will understand, only work on Saturdays. And he is only 16. We can, therefore, forgive him.

“How may I help you?” he enquires of Mr Tod Wilson, a touch obsequiously.

“I’m looking for something tasty for my tea. Perhaps you could recommend something.”

“Well, sir, you could try this karela. It’s new in and on special offer. Said to be very nice stuffed.”

“Oh, that’d be different. Thank you my boy, I’ll follow your advice.”

During this exchange between shop boy and customer Mrs Veronica Snippetwise, suffering with her bunions, hobbles towards the vegetable rack and stops in front of the heap of bags of small warty cucumber-like things marked “Karela”. Alerted by the men’s exchange she reads on: “Cut in half, remove seeds and stuff with filling of choice.” She has been wondering what might perk up the mince she found in the back of her freezer this morning. This’ll do, she thinks. Hungry family to feed.

And so it will come to pass that Mr Peter Dawson, Mrs Judy Frost, Mr Tod Wilson and Mrs Veronica Snippetwise will return to their respective domiciles and unpack from their shopping bags, variously made of cloth or plastic, a range of comestibles including, in each case, a packet of karela. Mrs Trixie Barley will look for a packet of karela in her shopping too but, as we know, will not find one.