RIGHT COLOUR, WRONG PRICE

‘Who’s next?’ said the woman stood behind the counter in Bonapartes, the cafe on platform three at Temple Meads.
‘Guiness and Blackcurrant,’ said the man next to me, ‘a pint.’
‘Tell me how much blackcurrant?’ she said.
‘That’s enough,’ he said.
She poured from the tap onto the cordial then let the glass stand half full as the liquid settled.
‘That’s three forty-nine,’ said the woman and repeated it when the man said incredulous, ‘how much?’
‘That’s for the blackcurrant,’ I said, didn’t understand what he said next but laughed anyway.
‘Is it the wrong colour?’ she said.
‘No, no,’ he said, ‘it’s the right colour, it’s just not the right price.’