I try not to eat at the same place at Westfield on shopping day, really I try not to eat the same cake on shopping day. This place I may not go back to unless I need the comfy cushions on the seat. The coffee was so-so (long black, no sugar) and the cheesecake with raspberries not a patch on the last one which had berries in the cheesecake as well as on top. The little serving wench who wouldn't have been out of place in a 17th century tavern, served me the cake on a plate with the fork sticking straight up in the middle of it. It looked as if it had run up the white flag and surrendered to the fat lady. It's not the first time it's happened at this cafe and if they can't put the fork beside the cake why don't they get bigger plates so clumsies like me don't shoot it across the table.
A little old lady (I tell you I'm a magnet for them) wanted to know where I'd bought my dress. "Very pretty", she said and wasn't I clever to make it myself. So she patted me on the shoulder and wandered off while I, in this age of suspicion, checked my bag for my purse. Fagin would be lucky to find, let alone pinch, anything from the bottom of my bag. I could lose a small country in there.
So I come home and check the mile long receipt from the robber barons to find the cat food equals two thirds of the bill, the other third is mine. Okay so I would have trouble living on Whiskas but he's getting it disguised with the expensive stuff. I remembered the wild bird seed which should please the mob at the back door. I am over-run with freeloaders.
I did not buy any chocolate, any biscuits, any coca-cola, anything that would make me happy but fat. I am so good.