My daughter and I had gone there to get the weekly supply of coffee, and meet my mother. We also wanted Cornish pasties for lunch and my mother was after a 'nice bit of salmon'.

Shopping done, we duly installed ourselves, in weak and watery winter sunlight, with coffee and hot chocolate at the table in front of the week's musical talent.

People of all kinds moved around in a slow vortex like an eddy in a wide river bend. Some holding hands, some with arms through elbows, babies in back packs and kids on trikes, sunnies on, mostly not too dressed up, deciding whether to approach one of the many stalls all bedecked with wholesome produce, and generally being relaxed and good-natured.

Now, the live music at the the market is a great thing, and an important opportunity for aspiring artists – but the variety of talent one finds there surely represents as wide a spectrum as any human endeavour can.

It's the market though, so even the most tuneless, pre-recorded clod-hopping does nothing to dampen in the spirits. And let us not forget that beauty is in the eye - sorry - music is in the ear of the listener. There is undoubtedly an audience for everyone, somewhere. And today it is here: Today we were lucky, and the young man with his two guitars, his loop box, and his voice were a pleasure to listen to.

So much so that I felt moved to add to the impressive pile of cash in his guitar case on the ground in front of him. I extracted five dollars from my mother's purse and gave it to my daughter to do the honours. Just as she placed it in the case the young musician was busy emphasising an important phrase on his guitar – with his eyes shut. He was none the wiser!

I was in the process of shocking everyone at our table including the strangers by saying I was going to go and tell him, when a small gust of wind flipped the bank note out of the case and onto the ground. Whereupon a young woman who was passing bent down, picked it up, and put it back in the case. At this point the young lad on the guitar, meaningful phrase complete, opened his eyes, clocked the action, and was effusive in his gratitude.

The assembled company forbade my stated intention to redress the injustice. The bard and the maiden exchanged cute eye contact, and I appalled the table further by saying "I will have my kudos: I'll write about it in next week's column."