Friday, August 15, 2008

Croissants, crazies, and cakes

This morning I was sitting in Cafe Rouge, trying to eat a croissant and feed Julia at the same time (not an easy task), when a young woman at a nearby table started talking on her phone. Talking is a polite way of putting what she was doing. More like shouting in a loud crazy way and using the F word a lot. Now I'm a firm believer that there are times when use of the F word is absolutely necessary when conducting a discussion - like when your crack dealer is attempting to short change you in a Soho alleyway, for example. But on this occasion the restaurant was full of children and it was plainly distasteful.

This is the information I could gather from her rantings to a poor soul called Danny who it seems was driving on the motorway at the time: She had maxed out all of her credit cards, had enormous amounts of debt, and had thirty pounds to her name. Not sure why you would go to Cafe Rouge for a coffee when you are down and out, but there you go. Also, not sure how wise it is to loudly exclaim how broke you are when you have just ordered something in a restaurant. I imagine the waiters were thinking - 'Yep, this one is definitely going to be a non-tipper.'

She was being thrown out of her flat and her parents had cut her off despite her repeated attempts to pull her life together. Her parents were also refusing to clear her debt. Oh yes, and her mother was a twisted evil bitch that could not be trusted (I'm qouting here).

She was losing her hair, and her mind, and didn't even have the money to have a haircut. She said the last as though her sanity and personal happiness depended on it. I reflected briefly on my own state of mind when my roots get really bad, and felt an element of sympathy for her on this point.

As the ranting continued it became clear that her family, her friends, indeed the whole world was conspiring against her, and she herself had absolutely nothing to do with the terrible circumstances she found herself in. In short, she was a victim - and the worst kind.

Eventually she got so loud and profane that the manageress calmly walked up to her, asked if she was OK, and then suggested she might prefer to continue her conversation outside. The whole thing was flawlessly conducted, coming across as helpful and considerate when in effect she was being thrown out. She apologised and carried on yelling and swearing as she walked out, leaving behind her half-drunk, unpaid-for latte behind. I think the staff saw it as a worthy sacrifice to be rid of her, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief. I had visions of getting home and hearing Julia utter her first words, "F**** her Danniiiiii!"

And finally, here is one of the funniest blogs I've seen in a long time - cakewrecks. It's cake decorating gone wrong when left up to eejit bakers (like my favourite one above), bad taste cake decorating (is there any other kind?), and just some weird shit you most definitely wouldn't want to eat. A big thanks to Gareth 'Hussein' for the tip.

Pic c/o cakewrecks

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