Blueberry muffins. Scones, split in half topped with a squelch of strawberry jam and a tiny fist of cream. Maybe fingers of banana bread, triangles of fairy bread and the odd skewers of pastel-hued melon – where more of the juices will end lining pint sized t shirts than stomachs.
Ah, the joys of the children’s birthday party. Once upon a time, Saturday mornings were foreign affairs. We’d be dashing to Gatwick or Heathrow, duffel bags in tow or waking up in Paris or Istanbul. Perhaps if we were at home we’d meander to a new cafe, spread the paper wide and make our way through four flat whites and two …
