I’m in a cafe. I want to warm baby food. I politely request a cup/jug/bowl of boiling water.
The woman on the till stares back at me aghast, revolted, amazed. Did I just black out? Oh God. I’ve just run in the back and cracked off a massive, acidic, sticky, poorly tummied poo in her Louis Vuitton handbag, haven’t I? People tend not to like that. I look to Dave, who shakes his head reassuringly.
Confidence restored, I press on. “Boiling water?”
Shaking her head ferociously, she holds out her hand. “You can leave it with me”.
“It’s not heroin. It’s mashed courgette,” I explain earnestly.
Nothing. Vacant expression. Empty eyes. Still just the hand out.
Baffled, I give up the tub of food and walk away muttering a wealth of puzzled profanities.

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