The bus from the village where I live into Doncaster is comfortable, smoke-free and regular, and after 10 o'clock, I can travel free of charge. Last market day, I took the bus into town and was wandering around Market Place when a loud voice stopped me in my tracks.

"Hey up, Mester Phinn!"

It was a young man behind a large fruit and vegetable stall. He saw the look of incomprehension on my face so reminded me. "It's me – Jason. Tha use to teach me."

"Ah yes, Jason," I said, recognising in the large bearded face the boy I used to try to teach English. "I were no scholar were I, Mester Phinn? Left school wi'out a certificate in owt."

"You were a good lad, Jason," I said, remembering a good-humoured and friendly ex-pupil.

"Come over 'ere, Mester Phinn, and I'll sort you out wi' some fruit." He then proceeded to fill brown paper bags with apples and oranges, pears and plums. Then he held up a banana and laughed. "Does tha remember t'incident wi' t'banana?"

I smiled at the memory. Jason's French teacher had a bowl of plastic fruit on her desk. She would hold up an apple and ask, ''Que'est-ce que c'est?'' and students were supposed to shout back, ''C'est une pomme.'' Then she'd pick up a pear and ask, ''Qu'est-ce que c'est?'' and they would shout back, ''C'est une poire.'' Once, she had a plastic banana in her hand. ''Qu'est-ce que c'est?'' she asked but caught sight of Jason talking at the back of the classroom and let fly with the visual aid. The banana arched through the air like a missile and hit the boy straight between the eyes. It then ricocheted off his forehead and flew back to her like a boomerang. The teacher put up her hand and caught it. All the class jumped to its feet and gave her a standing ovation. Jason was, of course, sent to me but, having related the story, must have seen how amused I was.

"So you're a greengrocer then, Jason?" I asked now.

"Aye, in a manner o' speakin'. I've six market stalls. 'High Class Fruit and Vegetables'. Started wi' one stall in t'outdoor market and built up ovver t'last few years. I 'ave 20 folk workin' for me now."

"You've done really well." I said. "I'm really pleased for you." At this point, drops of rain began to fall. "It's goin' to chuck it down in a minute," Jason said.

"Are you in yer car, Mester Phinn, or can I give you a lift?"

"I came into town by bus," I told him. "It's very kind of you to offer me a lift, but..."

"Nay, not a bit of it, Mester Phinn," he interrupted. "I'm knockin' off for t'day any road. I can go that way 'ome." I made my way to a small white van with his name printed in bold letters on the side, but Jason called me back. "Nay, nay, Mester Phinn, I'm not in t'van." He opened the door of a white, shining sports car with tinted windows.

My astonishment must have shown. "I can see that tha's thinking, 'What's a gret big bloke like 'im doin' driving a piddling little car like that?' Well, I'll tell thee. Wife's got t'Merc today, so I've got 'ers. Come on, Mester Phinn, before tha' gets
soakin' wet."