‘Good morning, Steve. How is your little dog, Andy?’
I had popped into Mr Mishri’s shop to procure emergency rations of milk and bread.
‘It’s Davy: D.A.V.Y. And Andy is called Audrey. My dog is called Audrey. Do you have any of that lovely Cornish semi-skimmed you sometimes stock?’
‘Very sorry, Steve. No milk today. But look what we’ve just had come in. Feast your eyes on those.’ He pointed to the top shelf of his magazine rack.
I found I was staring up at several colourful but very amateur-looking soft porn magazines, glossy, sealed copies of Asian Babes Monthly, Mumbai Magic and Indian Spice. On the cover of the latter was the salacious legend: SHOOT ALL OVER ME! THANK YOU VERY MUCH!
‘I just came in to buy milk, Mr Mishri,’ I informed him despondently.
‘I know, Steve. But look.’
I left without saying anything else. Realising I had forgotten, however, to ask if he had any bread, I made an about-turn and went back inside.
‘Back already, Steve? Can’t resist the temptation, eh?’
‘Do you have any bread? I see you don’t. Goodbye.’
As I closed the door behind me, I heard him shouting in his usual sing-song voice: ‘Thank you very much! Please come again!’