Ladies who Lunch

Well last week I finally managed to become, for the first time since retirement, a lady who lunches. Or a geezer who went out for coffee at least.

I proudly put on one of my freshly ironed shirts with the razor sharp random creases, and strolled out.

I live quite near the Artisan Bakery-infested North London "village" of Crouch End, which for those who do not know,  is a trendy haven for self-employed, self-satisfied, smug web-designer and childrens' book author parents and their hideous, undisciplined, spoilt, precocious brats called Samphire and Max.

They make walking down the pavement hell, as they come towards you with their huge buggies which nowadays are the size of Mack trucks, and heaven help you if you have the audacity not to leap out of their way, because, as everyone knows, parents-with-children take absolute priority over all other pedestrians, shoppers, funeral corteges, nonagenarians with walking frames, corpses and cafe-goers.

It is a God-given right to let their devil spawn run riot in any cafe or restaurant of their own choosing,  so that Crouch End can resemble a huge creche populated by Incubi and Succubi and their miniature offspring.

Now don’t get me wrong: I myself have two children (now grown up) , and I probably succumbed on the odd occasion to the false belief that anyone would be delighted by all the antics and screeching of my darling offspring, but that was different. That was my own kids, twenty years ago. This is now. This is me. Bollocks to the lot of them.

So I am walking along Crouch End High Street dodging the Mack trucks, looking for a café with a relatively low child infestation when what should I see but a sign put up by one brave proprietor outside their hostelry that said in huge capital letters in place of Today's Specials,

"ATTENTION ALL PARENTS: ANY UNACCOMPANIED OR MISBEHAVING CHILDREN WILL BE GIVEN A DOUBLE ESPRESSO AND A FREE KITTEN"

I shall be there for my breakfast, lunch and supper from now on