In the heart of England’s midlands, under a dreary, rain-soaked sky, the adventurous trio found themselves hungry and penniless. Their journey, which had thus far lacked the luxury of coastal caught seafood, now had them longing for something fresh from the ocean. With no money left in their coffers a plan was brewing, and it was anything but ordinary.
As the rain drizzled down, their trusty Fiat Scudo pulled into a Morrisons car park. The clock was ticking towards closing time. The group’s sharp-eyed scout Georgy, stepped out for a quick survey of the lot. He had a knack for spotting what others overlooked—abandoned weed butts, the remnants of countless car park car cruises smoke breaks. The trio had a saying: “Many smoke, few pay.” Collecting these leftovers had become a side hustle for their journeys. But this time, spliff alone wouldn’t cut it. They needed a single pound to set their audacious plan into motion.
While Georgy was scanning the parking lot Gabsy madevsure every abandoned trolley in the car park was inspected, every corner combed. Yet, luck seemed to elude her. Just as hope was waning, a roar pierced the damp air—a Ford Fiesta ST, heavily modified with a Cothworth engine, roared into the lot. Its low suspension made certain that ant had to walk around it because the lack of ground clearance. Put it mildly it sat deeper than the Titanic. The car was a garish masterpiece, the clear obsession of its owner—a swaggering young lad who appeared to spend his entire paycheck from Euro Car Parts on this metallic marvel. The bloke have yet to realized that a drug addiction would have been much cheaper.
Janny, ever vigilant, keyed his walkie-talkie. “We’ve got a mark,” he whispered to Georgy and Gabsy, his partners in crime.
Equipped with a counterfeit Morrisons trolley key, Georgy and Gabsy sprang into action. They followed the Fiesta driver closely as he swaggered toward a trolley bay, inserted a coin, and retrieved a cart. Timing was everything. Gabsy struck up a conversation, her charm disarming him instantly. “Nice ride! Did you rebuild it yourself? Got pictures?” The lad couldn’t resist. His face lit up as he pulled out his phone, eager to showcase his pride and joy.
Meanwhile, Georgy slipped into the act. Pretending to stumble, he bumped into the trolley, discreetly swapping the real pound coin with their counterfeit—a cleverly engraved fake with a barcode etched onto its surface. The lad, engrossed in Gabsy’s feigned admiration for his car, didn’t notice a thing.
As Gabsy kept the Fiesta driver entertained, Georgy darted into the supermarket. At the fish counter, he asked for a single black tiger prawn, priced precisely at £1. Pocketing the barcode sticker, he approached a staff member, claiming someone had dumped the prawn on an aisle. Feigning disgust, he handed it over and walked out—barcode sticker in hand.
Observing Georgie leaving the supermarket Gabsy told the lad that she’s interested in seeing more pictures and if he could email her more. The young man took her email address and they parted company.
Back at the Scudo, Georgy removed the barcode sticker with surgical perfection and handed it to Gabsy. She peeled the adhesive backing and pressed it onto her palm, ready for the final act. Equipped with the fake pound and the tiger prawn’s barcode, Gabsy returned to the store, her confidence unwavering. She approached the fish counter and ordered two kilograms of fresh octopus, priced at £9 per kilo.
At the self-checkout, she expertly stuck the black tiger prawns barcode onto the bag of the octopus barcode. With a beep of the scanner, the hefty haul of seafood was hers—for the price of a single coin. Moments later, she exited the store triumphantly and rejoined her companions in the car.
The rain had stopped, and a faint glow from the moon peeked through the clouds as Janny, the trio’s head chef and culinary mastermind, set to work in the cramped micro-kitchen at the back of their van. The octopus, freshly acquired through their daring supermarket escapade, was laid out on the tiny counter. With practiced hands, Janny carefully gutted it, removing the ink sacs with surgical precision. His movements were swift but meticulous, ensuring not a single drop of the prized ink spilled.
Once cleaned, he placed the octopus into an aluminum foil bag infused with a secret blend of dried herbs, fiery chili flakes, and a generous drizzle of extra virgin olive oil. The concoction was his own recipe, perfected over years of offbeat adventures. But the magic was only beginning. Janny stepped out, carrying the foil-wrapped octopus, and popped open the hood of their Fiat Scudo. Beneath the engine, nestled in its own stainless steel tray, was a device specially designed for this purpose: a heat-sealed, stainless-steel cooking compartment. With the engine still warm, the octopus was placed carefully inside, ready to slow-cook as they drove through the night.
They had just enough fuel for two hours, more than enough time to let the engine’s residual heat work its culinary magic. The trio climbed back into the van, and with the satisfying hum of the engine, they set off into the night. The road twisted and turned, the headlights carving paths through the foggy countryside. At precisely midnight, they pulled onto a secluded side road. Towering trees framed the narrow path, their branches reaching out like skeletal hands. Beyond the forest, small field islands dotted the landscape, their dark shapes stark against the moonlit horizon.
This was their destination. The three knew their roles well. Janny, the eldest and most experienced, had an uncanny knack for identifying mushrooms—a skill honed over decades of foraging in diverse terrains with his father. Equipped with a specialized mushroom knife and a rucksack designed with dedicated compartments to keep his finds intact, he disappeared into the forest.
Meanwhile, Georgy and Gabsy set to work collecting firewood. Their movements were fluid, a dance they had practiced many times before throughout their childhood. Within minutes, they had a fire roaring and a pot of river water boiling over the flames, their makeshift kitchen coming to life under the starlit canopy.
Half an hour later, Janny returned, his rucksack bulging with his bounty. As he opened it, he revealed a treasure trove of winter mushrooms, each variety more exquisite than the last. He laid them out like precious gems: Jelly Ear (Auricularia auricula-judae), Meadow Waxcap (Cuphophyllus pratensis), Velvet Shank (Flammulina velutipes), Field Blewit (Lepista personata), and the coveted Oyster Mushroom (Pleurotus ostreatus).
There was also a hint of caution in his voice as he mentioned spotting some Goblet mushrooms (Pseudoclitocybe cyathiformis) deeper in the woods. “Too risky,” he admitted, shaking his head. “Torch was dying. And those have dangerous look-alikes. Not worth it.”
Gabsy nodded, appreciating his prudence. With the ingredients ready, the feast began to take shape.
The octopus, now tender and infused with the rich aroma of herbs and spices, was removed from its stainless-steel cocoon. Janny skewered the succulent tentacles and placed them over the glowing embers of the fire. The smoky scent of grilled octopus mingled with the earthy aroma of the mushrooms, which were now sizzling in a pan over the flames. A sprinkle of salt and a drizzle of olive oil brought them to life, their flavors amplified by the fire’s primal heat.
The trio worked in perfect harmony, their actions synchronized as though choreographed. Gabsy stirred the mushrooms, Janny rotated the skewers, and Georgy added logs to keep the fire at its peak. When the octopus was charred to perfection, its smoky, spicy scent tantalizing their senses, it was added to the pan of mushrooms.
Together, the ingredients were tossed into a large pot, their flavors melding into a symphony of taste—a dish that was both simple and extraordinary. They sat around the fire, bowls in hand, savoring each bite. Every mouthful told the story of their adventure: the rain-soaked parking lot, the daring heist, the forest’s bounty, and the ingenuity that had transformed a single pound into a feast fit for royalty.
Under the stars, surrounded by the whispers of the forest, the trio toasted to their success. This wasn’t just a meal—it was a testament to their wit, skill, and unshakable bond. Truly, it was the greatest feast a single pound had ever bought.