It’s become a tradition now with my old chum E and I – a red cup Gingerbread Latte at any given Starbucks pre Christmas, and this year we were at E’s local deep in the heart of the City of London.
My exuberance for this event has me leaping out of bed – not easy when one is unused to the hideousness that is the London rush hour.
“It’s okay for you corporate worker bees” I said to E in the queue, “You do this every day.”
“Excuse me S, I prefer to refer to myself as an engineer of the capitalist revolution – although I’m not quite sure how relevant that is anymore.”
“What a great term E! I’d write it down but I can’t find my pen.”
“Digital revolution S? Remember that? Put it in your ‘phone!”
Behind us was a long line of sombre faced workers. My efforts at snapping some sparkly pics were not going down well. Meerkat type looks sidelonged me; these were people thirsty for their first fix of the day. E was fidgety and looked embarrassed as he placed the order. “Don’t forget my Starbucks name E – Bruschetta!!”
I was told off for taking photos. “It’s Starbucks policy’ an officious looking manager told me.
“But I’m a blogger who loves the red cups!” I cried.
I sobered down. We took our whipped cream topped drinks outside and seated ourselves as I confessed I was having a few issues with my dating exploits. “The thing is E, I’m just not really hitting a home run. I wonder if it’s something to do with my musical tastes? I do play them ‘Wings Greatest Hits’ quite a bit..”
“Oh no S!” E said as he spluttered out his mince pie. “It’s not your seduction album is it??”
I looked down into my red cup, blushing.
“S! It’s the kiss of death – are you kidding?!”
“I’m really worried E. I had a great date a week ago with this guy. When I got into his cream leather upholstered, walnut dashboarded motor, I made him turn off Thelonious Monk and plug in ‘Band on the Run’. I haven’t heard from him since.”
“Jeez S, did he press the ejector seat?! You may as well just play them ‘Now That’s What I Call Music 50’ and call it a day!”
Our mirth and merriment was explosive. It always is. Pigeons scattered and worker bees cast disparaging looks in our direction. We were having far too much fun for 9am on a Wednesday morning, even if they were erecting a 30ft Christmas tree virtually under our noses.
We clinked cups. “I love you E” I said, giggling.
“Right back atcha” he replied.