Here’s a fine Brighton bartering story. Went to visit L, took her a cardigan and a skirt, came back with her unwanted compost bin (she’s given up), four sacks of compost and a healthy fatsia (a kind of fig tree which doesn’t grow figs, I believe). Mind you, I had to dig up the fatsia from concrete using a rubbish plastic spade, ankle-deep in water where we’d tried to loosen the little soil there was, and in peril of falling down her drains, so I think I earned the damn plant. It had better bloody survive in my garden. Much muttering of obscenities and blistering of palms.