“I come to Somerfield, I expect no trouble getting a couple courgettes!” fumes Dora. “And what do you think I actually ended up with at home?”
“Well, then they’re–” the manager darts his hasty eyes at the label. “Um, zu–zubrettes, of course. Similar but sweeter. From Spain.”
“Madam,” he says stiffly, “I trust you to understand that your used vegetables and your patriotism can be inserted in the same place.”
Down the aisle, inconspicuously dressed, the members of Operation Zucchini Majority giggle: and then, chomping fresh crisp greenness, make for the Tesco at the roundabout.