A veg stall in Stratford-upon-Avon.
Tom: I love the colour of your hands. You don’t see hands that red these days.
Joe: Well, I see them quite a bit.
Tom: Real manual labour hands, aren’t they? We’ve all got these soft, office-worker hands.
Joe: That’s two quid for the tomatoes.
Tom: Exactly two quid? I’m good at this. I could do your job for you, couldn’t I?
Joe: Probably not. [Pause]
Tom: I love shopping local. I used to have an organic vegetable box delivered, but I had to stop. All that kale.
Joe: I like kale.
Tom: I love kale. Couldn’t eat it for every meal, though.
Joe: I could.
Tom: Yes, I guess I could have tried. Are your potatoes local?
Joe: Local enough. They’re not from bloody Spain.
Tom: I had some lovely produce in Spain.
Joe: I’m not a big fan of Spanish fruit.
Tom: Of course. Your potatoes look nice. Bit dirty, though.
Joe: They come from the dirt.
Tom: Sure. But now they come from you.
Joe: You don’t have to eat the dirt, mate.
Tom: But, you see, the dirt adds to the weight. It all adds up.
Joe: Does it now?
Tom: Maybe you could give me a dirt discount?
Joe: Would you like a dirt discount?
Tom: It’s terrible that everything’s individually wrapped in the supermarkets now. Every green pepper.
Joe: It’s disgusting is what it is.
Tom: But then, on the other hand, their vegetables are very clean.
Joe: You want me to rub these potatoes clean for you?
Tom: Um. [Pause] No. I’ll pick some up later.