Conversation in a Camden bakery, approx 12.55pm.

Woman in Hat & Apron: Next!
Me: Oh, yes, er, coronation chicken, please.
WIHA: On?
Me: Er. One of those. [points] Um, the, er, seeded baguette.
WIHA: [raises eyebrows] A long roll?
Me: [Adopting more of a London accent, dropping Ts] Yeah, that's right, long roll, great.
WIHA: [murmurs to colleague] A “seeded baguette” for this gentleman.
Colleague: [grins] ok.
WIHA: Right, do you want salad with that?
Me: Oh, yes, er, yeah…
WIHA: Lettuce, tomato, what?
Me: Oh, cucumber, lettuce, yep. And, er, red onion?
WIHA: Red onion?
Me: Er…
WIHA: We've got some white onion, if that's good enough.
Me: [barely using any consonants by this stage] Oh, yeah, great, cheers love. [Love! Where did that come from?]
WIHA: We're not posh enough for red onion, you know.
Me: [in an unconvincing drawl straight off a Harlesden housing estate]Oh, well, y'know, I'm not either.
WIHA: [looks at me with contempt] Mm. £2.80.
Me: Cheers. Cheers, love.