Sunday chores: dump dead dance mat, recycle green glass, reaffix homespun latch to gate, fail to fix loo seat that won't stay up, and walk dog The Boy & his friend. Fire up some Particle Man in the motor and point the wheels at Woodbridge. specifically Kingston Field, home to The Pavilion.

Competitive Dad guides young 'uns to the mini five-a-side pitch for (i) a penalty shoot-out, casting himself as Laurie Sivell from the 1975/76 Topps sticker collection, then (ii) corner practice, encouraging the chaps to "hit it first time". Lionel Messi started out this way, almost certainly.

Just gone twenty to five -- Battle Of Edgehill time, if you like -- dragged 'em back to their seat belts for the short drive into town. One thought is dominant: Dad Needs A Cup Of Coffee. Before the outbreak of the Great Northern War, gotta reach the chain coffee shop whose name is an anagram of:

• a Puccini opera,
• a Berkshire racecourse,
• and a place in Pratt County, Kansas

Drove, parked, sprinted into Costa to find girl mopping floor and nearly all chairs on tables. Aaargh! Fear not, she reassures, we're still open. Fur-yew. No free shot today but the serving area is bedecked with cakes. I tentatively ask: are these going spare? Er, yep, she says: what would you like?

Agog, awestruck, gobsmacked, I meekly point to a triple chocolate muffin each for The Boys, and a slice of carrot cake -- make that two slices! -- for me, ta very much. Patisserie paydirt.