You wouldn't have thought that Marrakech would have its very own thriving T-shirt industry with cutting edge designs and original illustration... and that's because it doesn't.
It has everybody else's.
Even the briefest of strolls around the snake-infested city square will reveal a myriad of counterfeit articles for sale at ludicrously low prices; prices that are lower than 'ASDA price' or 'fish and chips' as the stall vendors were quick to inform me.
Quiksilvers, Billabongs, Nikes, Ambercrombies - everything a 'lovely jubbly' bloke like me could need was somewhere in these markets.
There was also this - a stark royal blue Elements number, which without close scrutiny, appeared to be printed competently by a human being as opposed to a goat, and free from any damage such as that of small holes made in the back where the display pegs had been. Close scrutiny post-purchase however demonstrated otherwise.
But for all it's fraudulent undertones and poor craftsmanship, this T-shirt represents something more significant. This T-shirt marks the result of losing my bartering virginity (a term I'll stress shouldn't be tossed around freely among the Moroccan populace). For the whole trip out there, my girlfriend was bartering the butt off every slippery weasle armed with a chocolate teapot. I was in awe and wanted to land my own spoils, so after a clumsy conversation and a feigned hissy fit with one gent, I came away with this fine example of what almost qualifies as a T-shirt.
