‘Would you like any cashback today at all, Sir ?’

‘Oh yeah. That would be handy. £50 - thanks.’

‘Oh I’m awfully sorry. I haven’t got enough money in the till to give you £50, Sir.’

‘Oh OK - how about £30 then ?’

[Looks dolefully into depths of till] ‘Hmm - not really. That would leave me a little short of cash.’

‘Can you manage £20 ?’

‘Yeah, yeah. £20. I can give you £20.’

‘OK great. I’ll take twenty then. Thanks.’

[Rummages in depths of till and brandishes two 10 pound notes which he then withholds by holding them out of my reach] - ‘…but it really would help me if you could just take £10.’

‘Oh - wait. No problem. It really doesn’t matter. Sorry to mess you about. I’ll just go to the cashpoint outside to get some money. It’s fine. Please, forget I ever mentioned cashback.’

Then, as I walked home, I remembered it wasn’t me that broached the prospect of ‘cashback’ at all - it was him.