Freshly baked bread

Barry, the manager of the village shop, has taken to wearing a brightly coloured apron with a harlequin design. I half expect to look down and see him in pointy shoes with bells on the toes.

Since my last visit, he has not only spruced up himself, he has also spruced up the shop.

“Not too many changes,” he told me, “people round here can’t handle too much change. I have to take it slowly.”

Those are definitely new tablecloths I spy in the café. And I’m pretty sure the display counter at the front for potato chips (or crisps as they are called hereabouts) has been moved into a new spot.

But the biggest change – and the one that has the entire village buzzing with the enormity of the innovation – is that the shop now sells freshly baked bread rolls and croissants.

A new oven has been installed in the back of the shop, and each day the staff bake the bread and place it attractive baskets: dinner rolls, small baguettes, croissants and chocolate croissants. Apparently there is some disgruntlement from the employees at this addition to their workload, but the villagers are buying in droves (don’t wait til after midday, all stock is gone), so I suspect these complaints will fall on deaf ears where Barry is concerned – especially as the shop is making a very nice mark-up, thank you.

Finally, the village shop has found a point of difference and may even be encouraging some of its detractors who would prefer to take the 30-minute drive to Tescos for their bread (“it’s cheaper” never mind the cost of petrol), to patronise their local community store. That smell of baking bread sure has universal allure.

Mind you, Tesco does have personal helpers. They do a jolly good job too. Since my last visit, the supermarket has rearranged all the aisles which had me completely bamboozled. So I was very grateful to the assistant who obviously saw me looking confused and asked if she could help me find anything – and probably didn’t expect to spend half an hour running around seeking out chicken stock, crushed garlic, pumpkin seeds, cinnamon sticks … and numerous other basics which had been ousted from their previous homes.

I digress. I should point out that Barry will always act as personal helper too.

“Do you have any Post-It stickers?” I asked. One of Karen’s knitting tips was to use them to mark one’s place on a knitting pattern.

“I’m sure we do,” said Barry and rummaged amongst the pencil sharpeners, envelopes and Sellotape to no avail.

He called out to the young lass serving at the counter to see if there were any hidden beneath the till.

“Just this one!” she said. “I don’t know if it will do?” And she handed me one pre-loved pink Post-It sticker, crumpled at the corners and written on.

“It’s a bit old, it’s lost its stick,” she said. I politely thanked her and reassured her it wasn’t a crucial requisition.

Apparently people come into the shop all the time asking bizarre questions (“is this where I can find my bow and arrow?”) and expecting assistance on any number of issues.

As Barry’s keen on the occasional practical joke, this plays wonderfully into his hands.

“The Greek Prime Minister was in here today,” he told Mahri one day.

“Really?” she said.

“Oh yes,” said Barry, straight-faced. “I asked him how I could help him and he said that he was really struggling with Greece’s finances and wanted to know if I had any advice.”

“Really?” said Mahri, wide-eyed. “What did you tell him?”

“Oh, I told him, ‘I’m just a shop manager’, but I suggested that he might go to the IMF.”