I don't really understand what's happening here. Why is he acting as a middleman between me and the server? I can see the server. He's right in front of me. He can hear every word I'm saying. And yet now, for some unknown reason, the server has decided to take his instructions from this drunk man. He is no longer looking at me. He is waiting to hear what the drunk man will order for me next.

'You don't have to do this,' I say, trying to politely regain control of the situation. 'Honestly.'

'It is not a problem,' he says, closing his eyes and shaking his head kindly. 'You'd do the same for me.'

I consider it. I actually don't think I would.

'Anything else?' says the server to the drunk man. I now might as well not even be here.

'Is that all?' the drunk man asks me, and then, enunciating slowly and carefully: 'Do you want an-ee-thing else?'

He sweeps his arm across the glass display cabinet to indicate the rest of the chip shop's wares. I have lost all confidence in my own ability to order.

'Um ... maybe a battered sausage?'

'One battered sausage,' says the drunk man to the server.

I start to worry that this is some kind of scam. That he'll ask me to pay for his services. Hey - maybe the server is in on it. Maybe they do this with everyone. Outside, the youths are still there, still leaning on the window. But then I notice ... they're gesticulating at one another. Hang on - that's not gesticulating. That's sign language.

The server bangs the can of Fanta down on the counter.

'There's your Fanta,' says the drunk man, pointing at it.

'Thank you,' I say, unsurely. I reach for the can and open it. I look at the youths. Now it all makes sense. This man thinks I am deaf. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, he thinks I am deaf. He thinks I'm with those lads outside, and that maybe I'm a straggler. I look at him again. What do I say? Do I come clean? Surely that would disillusion him? What if he decided never to be nice again? But I can't go around pretending I'm deaf in chip shops! I'm probably breaking some kind of European constitution!

'Chips, battered sausage,' says the server to the drunk man.

'Here are your chips and battered sausage!' he virtually yells at me, with a huge exaggerated point towards the counter.