I just answered the door, and found a chap standing there.
Without bothering with any niceties such as a “good morning”, he said:
“Compost for the garden?”
I tried desperately to parse this, but eventually had to ask if he was buying or selling. Selling, of course. I wasn’t terribly impressed with his dog running loose around the garden, either.
p.s. No, thanks – we have plenty of compost already. In our compost heap at the end of the garden, which is affectionately known as Modo. The compost heap, not the garden.