At the back of the shop a black man is shouting.

“You are a thief, you did not charge me for that and now I have to spend more money with you to get it setup.”

Eyes and faces are turning and the salesmen at the front of the shop where I am are sensing that, with attentions diverted, sales may soon be lost.

“I’m sorry, we don’t run that part of the shop. We rent it out to another company”, says the man across the counter to me. I’m a pretty easy sale. I know what I want and I want to buy it from them. I’ve bought here before and I like them and they like my money. All I need to do is negotiate a few extras and lower the price a little.

If Martin was doing this dance it would take a lot longer and be a lot more bloody but I have a price in mind and want to get out of London and back home to the promise of the first barbecue of the year.

We stand by the chip and pin machine. “I hope that you didn’t mind the noise”, says the salesman to me. “No but perhaps you need to put up the rent”, I reply.

I walk out wondering just how good the G9 is.