Have you ever been sung at by a shopkeeper? It goes without saying that you don't really expect it when you go in to a deli. Interesting cheeses, chutneys and olives, yes. The Terpsichorean Muse, no. M (the owner of my regular lunchtime haunt since September) suddenly burst into a hybrid Flight of the Conchords/English folk composition that built around what personal details I had exchanged over the period and went on for a worrying amount of time.
Startling, yet surprisingly not without merit. I've kept the restraining order in my back-pocket for the moment as not only is M one of those innately likeable people, but his granary bread has addictive properties similar to crack-cocaine. The latter fact is not idle hyperbole, either. With my own eyes, I have frequently witnessed stick-thin women (the sort one sees in paintings by Stella Vine or imagines loitering backstage at Babyshambles gigs) queue just to come away with a single unbuttered slice.
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