I met this little old couple who worked in a haberdashery shop in Chesterfield. The shop was musty and small but packed high to the rafters with every conceivable bit of lace, cotton, buttons and thread you could every need. Zippers were hanging from hooks by the till and padding was stuffed into plastic bags that looked like they would pop.

I asked the old gentleman, who had the kindest face, if he had any wool, to which he replied he hadn’t however if I were to go… and he gave me the directions to a craft shop nearby. One of his directions, he said, would take me past the fish and chip shop, at which point he paused, rubbed his tummy with both hands and with the biggest smile and broadest English accent, told me it used to be the best fish and chip shop in the area when he was younger.

For an instant I was transfixed on this beautiful gentleman and didn’t want his storytelling to end. There were other customers and he came back from his reverie so I moved out but I was deeply touched by the time standing still as we was taken back to that obviously most pleasant memory of days gone by.