I don’t use milk. My preferences for the way I take my coffee are well documented:

Sainsbury’s, Tesco, Morrison’s own brand “Italian style” ground coffee, number 4 strength; brewed strong
Three heaped teaspoons of Coffeemate Light (the blue one)
One heaped teaspoon of white sugar

This combination is perfect and I don’t understand why nobody else takes their coffee this way. It irks me when I have to buy a pint of milk so that I can provide visitors with tea, especially when those visitors are builders who are relieving me of £300 to fix an unstable chimney breast and some loose ridge tiles from my roof. But whilst milk in tea I can understand, even though I don’t drink the stuff, I simply can’t comprehend why people like to destroy a good cup of coffee by adding milk. Things will change when I’m in charge.

I am in charge in my house I suppose. Just as I would never expect to be offered my preferred soft drink when I visit somebody’s house, nor should others automatically expect me to have milk. But they do, so I buy it very occasionally and then it turns to cheese in the door of my fridge and those who discover it think I’m the bad person for letting it get like that.

Whereas milk-cheese is an undesirable by-product of the dairy industry, veal is absolutely delicious. I just had some for my lunch. I don’t quite understand the objection to eating veal from those who eat dairy products, much in the way I don’t understand the objection to eating frois gras from those who have never tried it. Let’s just say, I was very much in the “anti” camp until I was force-fed it myself.

Matrimoany
Having experienced a certain degree of heartbreak and upset a few months ago, I am now on fairly good terms again with a woman I was sort of involved with last year. She comes here for a meal occasionally; we have a nice chat and she compliments me on my coffee and my cooking. It’s always lovely when somebody who I’d happily settle down with, but who has no interest in me says: “I don’t understand why you’re not married”.

Stunned silence from Tina.

It’s odd that every woman who’s ever dumped me has said exactly the same thing.

I have come to the conclusion that I am under a hex: “The Barcelona curse”. It seems to me that, as soon as I get involved with somebody who I really like – a keeper if you would – and plans start to be made to visit the Catalan capital, everything goes wrong. If I’m ever in a relationship again and my significant other suggests a trip there, they’re getting dumped.