Somewhere in the narrow space between the end of the workweek and melting on a garden chair was a call to action. I could not have felt more slothful than that Friday afternoon, but I got up, put on my red t-shirt, and off I went. Catching a fly in my throat gave me the sense of being a Kawasaki speeding on a motorway rather than a very slow human trying to unglue their feet from the pavement.

I arrived at Mr G's who could not find his book of labels - an illustrative shopping list. I produced the list from my bag, admitting I had forgotten to hand it back a week ago. Mr G was not surprised at all and asked me to buy the same things as last Friday - plus milk, if I could carry it. Of course I could. I had no limits.

Mr G: Can you get me an elephant then? Pink one, please.
Kash: What if they're out of stock in Sainsbury's? I may need to go to Hammersmith.
Mr G: Or to Hampstead Heath. A woolly mammoth was seen at the heath. You can hunt that. Get me a woolly mammoth.
Kash: Oh wow, that's a custom order. And Hampstead Heath is uphill. It may take me a while.

Mr G had another favour to ask for. He had a few little bags of coins the GoodGymers kept bringing him as the change from the shopping missions. He wanted to spend it all. Challenge accepted.

At the checkouts, I chose an automated till. I had hundred and twenty five-pence coins. Human cashiers have limits of patience, machines don't. Or do they? I shoved the cash into the slot, coin by coin. If I tried going faster and showered the machine with money (think: reverse of hitting the jackpot), it would choke and spit it out. I topped the £6 in five-pence coins with four one-pound coins and two notes.

Mr G was impressed by the disappearance of the coins, and the volume of groceries I brought. Next week is Good Friday, so I thought it would have been a good idea to stock Mr G up with baked beans and jumbo oat ahead of time.