"Picture it," Much began, getting more comfortable in his seat, encouraged by her laugh. "It's a beautiful day in Sherwood, sun, squirrels, deer shit, the lot - and I, innocent son of the miller, am carrying a huge bag of flour 'cross my shoulder, heading for town. And Rob drops out of the tree in front of me - you've seen the way he does it - all up in arms about this massive sack of gold I've got disguised as flour. I tell him I'm flattered that he thinks I can carry a sack of gold like this, but he's insistent that it's gold, cos sometimes our Rob, not so bright. So I show him, swing the sack off my shoulder and open it up, and Rob gets a handful of flour to the face and knee to the ribs for good luck, and we've been mates ever since."