(I’m confronted by a customer with an extremely high pitched voice and impenetrable Highland accent. This is one of those tiny old Scottish women with a headscarf nailed on and muscles like steel wires. They are a common sight in the East of Scotland, and are almost immortal. Only the slow action of the wind off the north sea will gradually erode them.)

Me: “That will be £***, please.”

Old Lady: “Areyenamerican?”

Me: “I beg your pardon?”

Old Lady: “Ah sid, are ye Namerican?”

Me: “I’m sorry, I missed that.”

Old Lady: “Are… ye… an… American?”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry. I misheard you. No, I’m English.”

Old Lady: “Oh… why?”

(I have spent much of the last three years trying to come up with a satisfactory answer. As yet I have made no progress.)