[Sundae]

I went up to the main road that runs through the village.
The only really useable shot was a window full of cocks...
Okay, okay hens and chicks.

There were some lovely places to eat; a French place in particular, but a child was having a meltdown inside while I read the menu in the window. Oh no, no thanks. I am not having a super-extra-special treat I can't really afford with that soundtrack. I can get screaming temper tantrums for free every day in Otley library.

Also a slightly kitsch cakery.
It's a recurring theme with me that I worry I will pay over the odds and the cake will be stale. And that was all I could think of! Their wares looked beautiful, and I'm sure they were fresh and moist (and the cakes, fnar, fnar) but I wanted something more solid.

I very nearly went into a place called The Hop, because the building was some sort of beautiful conversion and it had a wood-fired pizza oven. But they made a big deal out of their drinks selection, and being out on a sunny day with pizza I know I would have ended up having a beer or twelve.

So I went and bought a lottery ticket instead, on the understanding that virtue may be its own reward, but sometimes the Universe does pat you on the head and say Good Girl, Cherry. Which must be confusing for the rest of you not called Cherry. It's for the Euromillions draw tonight.

The only out of business place I could see was a KFC, and from the condition of the signs in the window it had been closed for a while. But as I walked past it still smelled of fried chicken and the Colonel's secret blend of herbs and spices. I wonder why a retail unit in such a prime location hasn't been re-let yet...?

I walked back down towards the station because I'd passed a slew of take-out sandwich/ lunch shops. And if this was the street where the locals went to during their lunch breaks, it was good enough for me. Cheaper than sitting and eating in (by at least £10!) and no temptation to feel all grown up by having a glass of wine with my lunch in the sunshine.

I was pleased with the place I chose, although one of the ladies at the back making the sandwiches to order coughed onto the back of her hand twice just while I was there, and simply carried on without washing her hands. I'm not disgusted by that, and although my immune system is now compromised I wasn't overly worried either. But I don't like to see it, because it's cheating. When I think of my extensive hygiene training, and how we lived in fear of inspection, to see someone cough onto their hand and just carry on is like thinking about your Grandad having sex with your Nan - you know it happens, but you still don't like it.

So I bought my baguette and an apple juice and tripped merrily down the hill to the park, to sit out in the sunshine (sunshine!) and feed my face. It wasn't the healthiest of meals, but I was at peace and that counts for a lot.
Pastrami, Swiss cheese, pickles and mustard.