I walked in and was confronted with a bewildering array of confectionary, when a white haired old man - alerted by the tinkling of the bell as I opened the door - stood in front of me, then placed a pair of gold-rimmed, half-moon spectacles on his nose.
"Bless my soul," he exclaimed, "it's Thomas Stephenson!"
I had never been aware of meeting the old gentleman before, but he continued, "Why, it seems like only yesterday since I was supplying your dear father with his first bag of sweets!"
He asked me what what I fancied, but - seeing my confusion - suggested some fizzy and acidic lemon bon-bons which he drew down from the shelf in a large glass jar, having reached up with a set of dark oak step-ladders.
I put one in my mouth, and soon there was a rushing sensation in my nether regions and I let out a loud fart.
"Dear oh dear, that will not do. Now... let me see... how about these..." He reached up and selected another jar which seemed to contain a multitude of small and brown writhing frogs, then invited me to place my hand in it and select one. This I did, but - no sooner had I brought it out than it leapt from my palm and out of the half open door, sticking to the side of a passing bus. I never saw it again.
"Most unfortunate", said the old man, then pondered again.
"The sweets always choose the boy - never the other way around. Now, I wonder..."
He again climbed the ladder and brought down a vast jar of Basset's 'Milk Bottles' (no artificial colours or sweeteners), decanting a quarter of a pound into a brown paper bag. As I put the first one in my mouth, he looked on in smiling approval, but when I turned around to give him the thruppence for them, he had gone, and so had the shop.
I wonder if I will ever find it again?