QUEEN BEAN FOR THE DAY
LAST week we told how a fundraiser and baked bean fanatic was on the hunt for a saucy singleton.
Barry Kirk, who is so obsessed with baked beans that he changed his name to Captain Beany, is fed up with being unlucky in love thanks to his pulseinduced flatulence.
The 63-year-old has 60 baked bean tattoos on his bald bonce and has decorated his house in Port Talbot, south Wales, with beans memorabilia and wallpaper. He was so desperate to find his true love he has taken to dating sites – but so far has been unsuccessful.
To give him a helping hand I went to his house for the perfect date.
When it comes to dating you could say I’ve ‘bean there, done that’.
But when I heard that Barry was looking for his very own “Tina Beans”, I was intrigued. OK, I’ll admit that I had my reservations.
But if you let constant farting and a limited diet put you off, you’d be ruling out most men.
So I put my worries behind me and boarded a train to Port Talbot in my best frock and with a full face of make-up.
Unfortunately the air con broke as soon as we pulled out of Paddington and I sat in a pool of sweat with make-up dripping off my face for four hours.
I arrived at Casa del Beany an hour later than scheduled, but at least I’d had the foresight to bring with me a tin of beans.
Captain Beany welcomed me with a kiss on both cheeks and a homemade “Beana Colada”.
When he mentioned the drink I hoped it was a cocktail with a funny name rather than a wine glass full of cold beans.
Clearly it wasn’t my day as it was the latter. But luckily, the main course was delicious beans on toast made by the Captain himself, an impressive connoisseur of the baked bean.
The setting was incredibly romantic and it was clear that the Captain only had ‘einz for me.
Over a candlelit dinner in Captain Beany’s living room – which also holds his Baked Bean Museum of Excellence – we stared into each other’s eyes, sharing jokes and secrets.
“It’s terribly difficult finding love when you are a superhero from the Planet Beanus,” he tells me.
“Tell me about it,” I say. “All I seem to meet are beanuses.”
All too soon it was time to head home.
We exchanged numbers and as soon as I boarded a train to London I had a text from my beany beau.
“It has BEAN a joy my Royal HEINZness,” it read.
Captain Beany, where have you bean all my life?