Jon Pretty

It was August 2008, the Beijing Olympics had just finished, and the Scottish government had decided to put on a parade along the length of Edinburgh's Royal Mile to celebrate the success of the Scottish medal-winners in Team GB.

The cyclist Chris Hoy was going to wave at everyone from an open-top bus, so there were excited crowds lining the street, which was being kept clear with barriers on either side.

The Scottish National Party leadership were doing everything they could to make this a Scottish celebration, so instead of Union Jacks, the flag of the day was to be the Scottish Saltire.

From my left, a hawker came trundling up the street with armfuls of small, plastic Saltires. "Get yo' flags hir! Six poonds itch!" Maybe one or two people handed over cash.

Then, as if to meet him, another hawker came down the hill from my right, peddling identical Saltires. "Seven poonds each!" he cried. Nobody bit. Then seeing his counterpart walking towards him, and noting that he was being undercut, he changed his pitch: "Flags! Five poonds!"

Not to be outdone, the first seller quickly caught on, and was soon offering Saltires for a mere four pounds. At no point did either peddler speak to the other, but they ending up crossing paths right in front of me, each offering their flags for just "thre' poonds".