Cafe Nero

"Do you want to read my blog?" I asked my sister the other day.

Her exact words: "I'd rather kill myself."

One of my brothers did, to my surprise, actually read it. "Is it funny?" I asked hopefully.

(Long pause) "It's ...witty. More like Jane Austen than Peter Kay."

Although to me this is a compliment, coming from a man who refused to read Pride and Prejudice despite his A-levels depending on it, but who can recite the 'garlic bread' routine word for word, it was less than encouraging.

In a bid to shed my sensible persona and begin reliving the now mythical 10 year gap year, I went to my local Cafe Nero today. "Small Americano?" the barista asked wearily, clearly relishing the prospect of receiving 2 quid in return for me sitting there for 2 hours, doing the puzzles in all the newspapers and stealing the occasional cup.*

Well, dear reader(s)- who I believe at the time of writing consist of a) my mum, and b) perhaps a few pervs who hope I will inadvertently give out my mum's number- I purchased...an iced tea!

Breaking the mould in style methinks- more outrageous escapades to come.

* Sadly more for pragmatic/compulsive reasons than deliberately decadent ones.