Earlier in the day I'd had what felt like a comedy conversation outside a butcher's roadside shack. There was a row of goats' heads, fur and horns attached, which were very striking. In my surprise I pointed at them and said "goats' heads" (duh), to which a man at the stall asked "do you want the whole head or only the brain?". Boom boom, but he wasn't joking.

Later, at this shop, having evidently been amazed by a tray of heads outside, I was directed inside to where this butcher had just killed a goat. One of its hind legs seemed to give the occasional twitch, but that may have been my imagination. I was standing taking photos and the butcher said something to me which took a repetition to register: "you're getting blood on your t-shirt". Sure enough, what appeared to be a goat's testicles were hanging from a hook and were resting on my shoulder.

After I'd taken about a dozen photos the butcher said to me, very politely and rather sweetly, "can we get on with our jobs now?". Point taken.