Button it

I seem to be doing rather well from charity shops lately - one of my most very favourite purchases being a humungous overdose of buttons.  There were millions of them, all sorted into jars, and I waltzed in (that's not really true; I actually stumbled in, tripping over daughters and their idiot mittens, which were hanging out of their coat sleeves and betangling themselves amongst us, as we wrestled with market day meat and cakes and fruit and veg.  Every Thursday I do this - go to the charity shop severely overburdened with my goods and chattels and wonder why I didn't go there first...)... a n y w a y, in I went and grabbed 5 jars containing buttons labelled at (let's face it, a rather steep) 5p per button, and negotiated with the ladies over the counter for a fair price for the lot.  There was a lot of very dainty "Well, hm.  How about you tell us what you'd like to pay..." "No, really, how about you suggest a price?" "Well, erm, what do you think is reasonable?" "Well I was wondering whether it would be at all possible for me to pay, say, um, do you think a tenner is about right at all, orrr...?"

"Exactly what I was going to say!" beamed the lady happily.

This is not like the olden days, in my life of work, the one where I got money at the end of the month, which was nice (this is called a Job, or sometimes a Career).  In those days I was selling media space in magazines, and the negotiations were not quite so, how to put it, polite....

And without wishing to boast, I'd have snorted in the face of that offer and said, you're 'avin' a giraffe arncha, have you seen the quality of these 'ere buttons, they're a bargain at twice the price.  

I'm sorry.  I don't know what that was.  I neither spoke with a Cockney accent nor ever had a conversation remotely like that one when I was in media sales.  It was the mention of the market fruit and veg.  It must have tipped me over the edge.  Guv'nor.