Casa closed!

Yesterday, dad and I went out for 'elevenses'. He ordered a decaff with soya, and I had a hot chocolate. With cream. And an almond tart.

The tart was gone within thirty seconds. I'd love to tell you how good it was, but it wasn't me who ate it....

I decided I couldn't stand it anymore, and asked him what on earth he's doing with a partner as controlling as Marisa.

He pulled a photo out of his wallet and slapped it down on the table. It was a picture of a beautiful Spanish woman in traditional flamenco dress. She had shiny black curls, a happy smile, and the sort of figure that couldn't squeeze into anything less than a size 18.

"That was her when we first met", he said sadly, "at a fiesta in the village. She was gorgeous, with the biggest pair of castanets I've ever seen..."

"And, um, now?" I asked (not entirely sure where this conversation was going.)

"Haven't had a clack for ages." he said. "Not since she discovered the down dog position."

I think he was talking about yoga, but decided not to ask. Instead, I signalled to the waiter.

"Dos mas tartes de almendre, por favor." Two more cakes please - and don't spare the cream....