After a morning of sending emails destined never to be replied to, I decide to head out into a faint hearted blizzard of snow that doesn’t settle, but has no qualms about stinging one’s face. I wander through the side streets of Soho (no, not those ones…) trying to find my new office, my new office being whatever café I decide to drink tea in. On this occasion it is Foxcroft and Ginger, a place fabled within the realm of food blogs and Instagram records. After proving that my navigational skills are still terrible by walking straight past it, I finally enter the rather agreeable interior and order a blueberry and custard muffin with a tea.
At the table I begin to draw what I imagine to be the interior of a café in Teignmouth, copying Cicero quotes and trying to memorise them in order to crack them out at dinner parties. The tea arrives, loose – just how it should be (although I’m not knocking tea bags) alongside the muffin, standing astute within its baking parchment ruff.
I push my fork downwards through the crumbly top, perhaps a little scared of what may ooze out. I wonder if I’ll be drenched in custard like in the Get Your Own Back nightmares of my childhood, with Dave Benson Philips screaming hysterically at me. Dave would be disappointed on this occasion however, for there is no ooze. I must admit that I was probably more excited than scared at the prospect of custard ooze, but I’m still pleased with the purchase, for the custard has been baked within the muffin to create a moist sponge and creamy flavour. Unsure of what to do next, I sit back and resign to the fact that on a snowy, directionless day like today, all one can hope for is moist, creamy flavoured sponge and loose tea.