A SMALL SHOP. THE SHELVES LINING THE WALLS CONTAIN NOTHING BUT CANS OF DIFFERENT VARIETIES OF BEANS. A HUGE SIGN SUSPENDED FROM THE CEILING SAYS ‘BEANS’. Other signs say ‘GET YOU BEANS HERE’ and ‘WE SELL BEANS’.

THE SHOPOWNER IS BEHIND THE COUNTER. A CUSTOMER ENTERS AND STROLLS UP TO THE COUNTER.

SHOPOWNER: Yes sir, what can I get for you?

CUSTOMER: Do you sell beans?

THE SHOPOWNER SPREADS HIS HANDS IN A HOPELESS GESTURE BEFORE ANSWERING PATIENTLY.

SHOPOWNER: Yes.

CUSTOMER: Tin of beans then.

SHOPOWNER: What sort of beans?

CUSTOMER: Doesn’t matter. Any sort.

THE SHOPOWNER LEANS OVER THE COUNTER, GRABS THE CUSTOMER BY THE COLLAR AND PULLS HIM CLOSE.

SHOPOWNER: Let me tell you a little story. The day I took over this shop a man came in and asked me for a tin of kidney beans. I didn’t have any. Consequently I lost a sale. I vowed it would never happen again. If a customer wanted kidney beans I would have them. And any other sort of beans. And now I have. I’ve got baked beans, french beans, kidney beans, runner beans, butter beans, string beans, green beans, red beans, black beans, pink beans, cranberry beans, soya beans, pinto beans, lima beans, cannellini beans, borlotti beans, calypso beans, chilli beans, cranberry beans, adzuki beans, corona beans, flageolet beans, kidney beans, lupine beans, mung beans, navy beans,  broad beans, narrow beans and kidney beans. I’ve got sausage and beans, bacon and beans, hamburger and beans, beefburger and beans, limburger and beans, peas and beans, rice and beans, spice and beans, twice fried beans, thrice fried beans, and beans with ham, lamb, spam, ram and jam. I’ve got nothing else but beans! (PULLS HIM NEARER SO THAT THEIR FACES ARE ALMOST TOUCHING). So what sort of beans do you want?

CUSTOMER: Er….well since you put it like that. (THINKS ABOUT IT FOR A MOMENT) I’ll have a tin of beans and frog.

SHOPOWNER: Beans and frog?

CUSTOMER: If it isn’t too much trouble?

SHOPOWNER: No trouble at all.

THE SHOPOWNER TAKES A CAN FROM THE SHELF BEHIND HIM AND PLACES IT ON THE COUNTER.

SHOPOWNER: One tin of beans and frog.

HE BANGS HIS FIST ON THE TABLE, CAUSING THE CAN TO JUMP UP AND DOWN A COUPLE OF TIMES.

SHOPOWNER: Very fresh, as you can see. Anything else I can get for you?

CUSTOMER: Yes. (THINKS ABOUT IT FOR A MOMENT) I’ll have a tin of beans and camel.

THE SHOPOWNER TAKES A CAN FROM THE SHELF BEHIND HIM AND PLACES IT ON THE COUNTER. THE TOP OF THE CAN HAS A HUMP ON IT.

SHOPOWNER: Tin of beans and camel. (HE NOTICES SOMETHING WRONG) Sorry, that’s dromedary.

HE PUTS THE CAN BACK AND REPLACES IT WITH ANOTHER. THE TOP OF THIS CAN HAS TWO HUMPS ON IT.

SHOPOWNER: There you are, tin of beans and camel. Anything else?

CUSTOMER: (THINKS ABOUT IT FOR A MOMENT, AS THOUGH TO COME UP WITH SOMETHING MOST UNLIKELY) You did say you do beans with everything?

SHOPOWNER: Everything.

CUSTOMER: Very well, I’ll have a tin of Leg of Madagascan Leaping Bush Whippet.

SHOPOWNER: Right leg or left leg?

SHOPOWNER: Right leg or left leg?

CUSTOMER: (LOSES HIS TEMPER) Oh….knickers!

THE CUSTOMER MAKES FOR THE DOOR.

SHOPOWNER: Oy!

THE CUSTOMER STOPS AND TURNS TO HIM. THE SHOPOWNER POINTS TO ONE OF THE SHELVES.

SHOPOWNER: French knickers, camiknickers, tie-side knickers, skirted knickers, bikini knickers or thong?

*

The sketch above, which I wrote for the Two Ronnies, was inspired by Mr Bhatti, the Pakistani owner of the corner shop not far from where I live, the same Mr Bhatti who yesterday scrutinized with suspicious eyes the twenty pound note I handed him to pay for the bottle of bleach The Trouble had asked me to pick up on the way back from my walk.

It was not bleach but a can of beans & sausages that I needed from Mr Bhatti’s shop all those years ago.

Mr Bhatti, who had recently taken over the shop from its previous owner, had given a sad shake of his head on hearing my requirements. “Sorry, I do not have cans of beans & sausages.” However, brightening immediately he said, “I have cans of beans, and I have cans of sausages. But not in the same can.”  Then, showing the sort of entrepreneurial spirit that has made Pakistani owned corner shops successful where the same shops run by British people have failed miserably he said, “I can open a can of each and make for you one can of beans & sausages. My wife and I will have the other one for our tea.”

Can you imagine a British shop owner making such an offer? I think not. Only because I would have felt a fool walking up the road for half a mile with an opened can of beans & sausages did I turn Mr Bhatti’s offer down.

He wasn’t fazed at all. He just smiled and said, “I understand one hundred per cent. But please call again. The next time you do I will have cans of beans & sausages. I will have cans of beans & sausages by the lorry load.”

Well I don’t know about by the lorry load but Mr Bhatti certainly had beans & sausages the next time I called. He made a point of telling me.

“I have cans of beans & sausages,” he said, proudly pointing them out on the shelf behind him no sooner had I walked into the shop. I had called in for just a bottle of bleach but I bought a can of beans & sausages off him as a reward for his enterprise.

I was rewarded myself a couple of days later when, whilst searching for an idea for a sketch, I recalled the incident.

Now, having completed his intense scrutiny of the twenty pound note and finding it not to his liking, Mr Bhatti held it up between thumb and finger as though it were radioactive and said, “This no good.”

“What do you mean it’s no good?”

“It is good for nothing. It is good only for arse wipe. I show you what I do with notes like this.” Without ceremony he picked up a red marker pen and wrote on the note in large letters. “There!” He turned the note round to show me what he’d written.

“Forgery?” I said.

“Forgery,” he said. “Counterfeit. Is dud.”

“Yes but you’d no need to write on it,” I protested.  “It’s neither use nor ornament now.”

“It was neither use nor ornamentel before. Is forgery!”

Mr Bhatti had presented me with a dilemma. If he hadn’t written ‘Forgery’ on it in indelible red marker pen I would simply have passed it on to someone else. Well why not? After all someone had passed it on to me. It was my bank actually; the note was one of three I’d withdrawn from the hole in the wall earlier that morning. However I knew there would be nothing gained by taking it back there as nowadays banks are bigger rogues than the counterfeiters making the notes and would undoubtedly have denied all knowledge of it.

Thinking quickly I said, “So if you’ll just replace my twenty pound note, Mr Bhatti, I’ll be on my way.”

“Replace your twenty pound note?” he scoffed. “Your twenty pound note is a forgery, is worth nothing.”

“Yes but it isn’t my twenty pound note any more, is it. It’s your twenty pound note now.”

“What do you mean is my twenty pound note now?”

Using my ‘British Official’ voice I explained. “The moment you started writing on it you took possession of it, Sale of Goods Actm1946, Section Three.”

Using his ‘Pakistani Unofficial’ voice Mr Bhatti said, “Bugger Sale of Goods act!  Bugger you too!”

I could see there was no point in arguing with him so I left. However before I did I told him that I had clearly been out of order and offered him my sincere apologies; for I had had an idea, and wanted to leave him on good terms. In a day or two I will be going back to his shop and will ask him for something which he doesn’t stock. Not Leg of Madagascan Leaping Bush Whippet, because that would be impossible, so something expensive. Canned Grouse in a truffle sauce

perhaps? And then the next time I go and he tells me he now stocks it I’m going to tell him where he can stick it.

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