Orlando’s Café was a dreary downmarket affair, hardly Mr Barings’ idea of a meeting spot.

Pimply youths lazed idly behind the counter, a toothless black woman drowned in a million shopping bags and a blonde floozy hunched over her cup of coffee whilst her boy, one irritating snot nosed tyke waddled from aisle to aisle thumping anything with his fists.

Worst, a lovey-dovey couple, shared a Sunday with a single spoon, breaking off from time to time for a quick peck on the lips or an ear splittingly giggle which made Barings long for a shotgun.