“Now then si thee” said old Harry as he entered the local hardware shop. “What’s tha got for me soil then?”

Although Harry Gunn was well beyond his three score years and ten he maintained a sprightly step and a lively dialogue in a thick Lancastrian dialect. He struck a diminutive figure with a pair of spectacles like two glass ashtrays perched delicately on a bulbous nose that could stop traffic on any street corner. A flat cap atop a face that could double for a road map completed the outer man.

“A said what’s tha got for me soil then,” he echoed in more demanding terms.

“Soil!” replied Bert, the brown smocked owner of said corner shop. “What about tha soil, what’s wrong wi it then?”

“Whats wrong wi it,” intoned Harry. “What’s wrong wi it? I’ll tell thee whats wrong wi it shall I?” It’s like a ruddy bog that’s what’s wrong wi it. Nowt’ll grow in it, that’s what’s wrong wi it!”

“Well, appen it’s your pH then” said Bert, with more than a hint of expert sarcasm.

“Me pH, what’s that when it’s at home?

“It’s acid that’s what it is. You see your acid soil has less lime in it and you need to raise the pH.”

Oh aye, and how do I raise my pH then?”

In a somewhat disdainful manner Bert replied “Viagra can do it for most blokes but in your case I wouldn’t bother.”

“Eh,what?”

“Never mind. I see that you don’t do irony do you?” No, what you want is some lime powder.”

“How’s that then,” replied the befuddled Harry.

“Well, Mr Gunn, powder, it stands t’reason is best for the plot!”