It was a tense stand-off. I wanted the shirt but not at the price she was asking. She wanted to sell it to me but not at the price I was offering. Frowns all round until I deployed my secret weapon: the down-down dance.

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A well-practised routine of heart clutching, face pulling, sighing and mock sobbing soon had an audience, drawn by the theatre of it all. After 10 minutes I had the shirt at the price I wanted as well as a playful poke in the tummy from the stallholder. "You happy Buddha now," she beamed. And then tried to sell me another shirt.

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