The Trojan Workhorse

My last visit to Mr G in August was a late one. I was coming from the opposite side of London after work. Today, Mr G was considering trimming his list, worrying there would be too much to carry from the store. I said I never had problems with the weight of his groceries.

"You are like a Trojan! You know what a Trojan is?"
"Not really."
"They were tireless warriors. You wouldn't want to have them at your doorstep."
"Ah, the guys from Troy."
"As a Trojan, if you were not born tough and strong, you would be gone!"
"Weren't those Spartans?"
"Ah, Spartans. Those were worse. They would conquer and kill everything. They were just psychos!"

At Sainsbury's - surprise, surprise - I met two GoodGymers in civilian attires. I was wearing red.

"Are you coming back from GoodGymming, Kash?"
"I am GoodGymming now. Mission!"

I bought Mr G's standard set of ready meals, protein yoghurts, walnut halves and green cabbages (he was very pleased with the savoy cabbage I found). At the checkout, the automatic till spat out an unusually looking fiver as my change. After a second of being baffled, I gathered that the notes with the current monarch are now in circulation.

When I was leaving Mr G after delivering the order, he seemed to be in higher spirits than on my previous visits. His health improved and he was hopeful to feel well enough to take a break from London. Knowing I was going away for a holiday, he wished me a good break and recommended: eat - relax - enjoy. He was even brightly smiling when we said our goodbyes!