I see fresh green beans in the market and I’m instantly a child again– following Nanny outside grasping my little basket, watching her carefully inspecting each bean, before snapping it off and dropping into the little trug. She had so, so many – every Sunday, I look back and warmth comes to be seeing her in that garden she was so proud of – then I remember the smell, and shudder - the awful smell that used to fill her kitchen as she boiled those green beans.