My favourite way to shop

Friday morning is market day in Lectoure. Any of you who know and love France will probably count the weekly market as one of your favourite features of this diverse country. The Lectoure market stretches the length of the high street. It's not just a place to buy local goods and produce, it's a weekly meeting place, a place to catch up on news and gossip. Halfway up the steep lane that leads from our house into town, I can hear the buzz of chatter, long before the market stalls come into view. The atmosphere is convivial; you never know what you'll find or who you'll meet; it's fun and relaxing to shop there. I tend to postpone supermarket shopping for days, until the fridge is almost empty and I've run out of ingenious ways to rustle up supper from an egg, a lump of cheese and half a cucumber, but the Friday morning market is a shopping expedition I relish.

Satsumas with a bitter taste

Numerous stalls sell fruit and veg. You're spoilt for choice. But I've learnt which ones to make a beeline for and which to avoid. Two recent incidents biassed me and left me pondering how easy it is to alienate or attract without even being aware we've done it. First the negative. I stopped at a laden stall and selected a few satsumas and a couple of curly hot green peppers. I handed over my ten euro note. The stallholder gave me change of five. I pointed out his mistake and he immediately handed over the other five without even checking his cash box, always a suspicious sign. He apologised, I said 'Pas de probleme'. But I lied. He'd lost a customer for life. Maybe he mistook me for a tourist, a stupid Brit (can't hold that against him I guess) who not only spoke with a foreign accent but didn't know how to add up. Whatever the reason, he short-changed me and left me with a sour taste that even his sweet, juicy satsumas couldn't rectify.

Compassion sells cauliflowers

I wandered on up the street to another fruit and veg seller who has his pitch in front of the cathedral square. His is a popular stall and I joined the queue. At that moment, a young man came storming down the street, waving a mobile phone, shouting incoherently. Everyone turned to look at him. Anyone in his path drew back to let him pass. 'He's in a temper today,' a customer in front of me in the queue observed to the stallholder. 'He's okay,' the man observed, 'he doesn't do anyone any harm.'

Now I know compassion as opposed to dishonesty won't necessarily produce a better salad, but no prizes for guessing where I go to buy my fruit and veg.