Friday was a little like 50 Shades of Grey.

Oh come on! Take your smuttiness to the mirror and give yourselves a long hard look. Disgusting.

Anyway, I meant the weather. Some people say they like things that are grey. But they're wrong / of doubtful moral character. It's like what that Mr Plato once said - "don't trust anyone who likes grey".

So as I started my slow plod to Lewisham, grey was colouring my mood a little. But the joy of moving (and the sense of fortune and luckiness in being able to do so) can do wonders in making you see the colour. Which was what I started to see as I crossed the openness of Blackheath Common - green below, shades of black and white in the clouds above, and the teeniest glimpse of oranges and reds towards the East and the slowly descending sun. And I suppose the bits of grey weren't too bad either. But back to the report.

I got to Mr F's at 5 and was met by the always lovely (and super good-deeding) Marta. We donned our masks and gloves and were let into Mr F's by his friendly neighbours. And Marta and I were about to be treated, for Mr F is wonderful. His warmth meant that my mind was a touch confused to begin with - were we on a mission or had Mr F actually invited us over for dinner? Thankfully, Marta took control as I worked slowly through my mental abyss, and we headed swiftly up to Mr F's bedroom to start putting together his bed.

It was here that Marta, in true sleuth-like form ('the Portuguese Marple'), spotted a microphone - "are you a singer, Mr F?" And not just any sort of singer, a former singer of the clubs in the Northern scene. You can tell by the way Mr F speaks too - it's rich and full, perfect for the microphones and dancefloors. It was lovely to hear Mr F's stories and interests, a conversation full of colour and life.

Marta's calm repose and wonderful efficiency outweighed my lack of coordination, and we finished our work in swift measure. And with our work done and our ears filled with Mr F's tales, we made our goodbyes and left Mr F to his evening. Knowing that we'd got so much more from Mr F than what we'd been able to give.

This is the beauty of missions. You do something small and get something so much bigger in return. Nice one.