I've had some meaningful messages from Siri-devotee Andy over the years: the one that comes to mind is his "Boris talking to a hobnob" entry from this time last year. Latest one, sent 09:14 on a WFH Friday, proposed a cafe trip "outdoors ideally or spacious inside to avoid catching anything". Nope, not the Covax but sensible precautions before his Abba adventure.

Month ten yet the sun did shine as I Pogacar-ed through the herd outside the Grazing Sheep down on the docks. No sign of patient zero when I arrived -- always a bit weird to be first -- so may as well get fed. An old fave, chilli jacket, is on the late Terry Hall's list. Sorry, says the woman, but that's gone. Darn it, I think, scouring the nicely compact blackboards. There follows a tactical switch to the "meaty", the two-of-everything all day breakfast. I'll bring it out, she says. Fortunately there's a seat in the shade 'cos the outlook is straight from Poula Fisch.

I'm sipping cream soda and very much enjoying my full-fat English when Mr PDTT rolls up, most apologetic after a sweaty long walk from near Holywells Park. Quicksnap he's ordered and secured a sweet chilli chicken wrap from that selfsame specials board and sat opposite, half in the punishing sun and at a safe distance from YT. We came here in a black and white world, I say, way back when it was Colours. Not sure we ever revisited when it mutated into Coffee Cat. And now, looking very much the same, it's progressed through the alphabet and gone Deluxe with talk of opening later into the evenings. That'd be no bad thing given its location location location.

Plates once again cleared, in I trot for neat sweet treats; Andy's already got his name on a slice of a certain something, and I spot my two-letter appelation on a slab of carrot cake. Usual drinks too, being his chai latte and my flat white, a decent one that's brought to my shiny table. The person facing me is using a fork to stuff himself with lemon cheesecake. In a week's time he'll be under the knife so a Swedish surgeon can stuff him with stem cells. Between bites he hands me his phone to better show me an image of a friend's MRI. Not now, Cato.

If it was a car -- De Luxe Ford.
If they were passing by -- Bill Nelson.