It was all going so well in the surprisingly quiet Sainsburys with Mr A's familiar list. Having dug out both the specific jar of honey and the bottle of olive oil that he wanted from his cupboard to show me, I was very well prepared and knocking off the items faster than an elite level supermarket sweeper...until I reached the tinned vegetable section and the brakes came on.

Far be it from me to suggest our gallic neighbours are hoarding their favourite green beans as a bargaining chip (frite?) for any future fishing quota talks with the perfidious Albion, but I can confirm that beans from all our other European cousins were readily available on the shelves. As Poirot might say "c'est un grand mystère...".