Tell 'em about the honey

I don't usually go into the "bespoke" bakery round the corner from the flat, a bit because I'm not too sure what a "bespoke" bakery is, but mostly because it sells overly-complicated bread that you can't fit into the toaster properly and it's about five quid a throw. I was caught short, bread-wise, this morning, though, and I had to go and face up to the full, sundried tomato-infused horror.

The least intricate item seemed to be a white loaf being billed as Pain de Miel - bread made with honey, so it's a little bit sweet and you can whack a 200 per cent markup on the price. I asked for it in my best French accent, even though we're in Southwark, and the assistant, coincidentally the World's Poshest Woman, gingerly picked it off the shelf and wrapped it, all the time eyeing me suspiciously.

"Have you had this kind of bread before?" she asked, making it sound like it was some fabulously mysterious item, baked from flour ground underfoot by unicorns.

"Er, i don't think so," I said, not sure if she was even going to let me buy it. I should mention at this point I was wearing a track suit, and not my best tweeds, ribboned bonnets, etc, like the rest of the queue.

"It's...got honey in it..." she snarled. I felt like I was ordering something unethical, like I'd gone in demanding a pound of panda livers or humming birds on sticks. I think she imagined that people in track suits didn't have palates sophisticated enough to enjoy bread with honey in it.

"Er, yes, I know. Thanks." By now I was almost having to wrestle it from her hands.

"I'm asking because I've never tried it myself," she (probably) lied. "Will you come back and tell me what it tastes like?"

"No problem," I said, already turning for the door, thinking well, it IS made on the premises, surely you can just go in the back and tear a bit off, or buy one with what I imagine is a sizeable employee discount?

Sadly I'll only be going back as a last resort. And besides, you couldn't taste the honey.