I want a raspberry scone.

I’ve been having a case of the Verucasalts lately, wanting to stamp my foot and wave my fists around and generally get all red faced, so that I can have my own way.

It might be the good weather that’s bringing it out in me, allowing the selfish, tantrum-throwing, heatstroke-prone side of me to take over.

This morning, when the bus went past me on O’Connell Street, I took a deep breath and turned left into the convenience store / coffee shop comboutlet.

There were three girls in front of me who seemed determined to ask questions and questions and questions and to buy all the tiffin slices and flavoured coffees and pieces of withered fruit and thus prevent me from getting my coffee hit.

After about half an hour of consultations and too little purchased to justify the time spent, they folded up their fivers, and went on their unironed and bedraggled way.

“A latte and a raspberry scone please,” says I to the woman behind the counter.

After the customary refusal of the large latte, (upsell, upsell) and the swirling of milky coffee into the cup and the choosing of the scone (erm, no, not that burned one, that one in the middle, yeah, thanks), comes the punching of the numbers on the register of the cash.

“Fourseventyfiveplease.”

The what now? What happened to the €3.50 offer we knew and loved so well?

It seems the offer has switched back to muffins and somethingelses (pastries perhaps) this month. So, I took a deep breath and waved my hands and scrunched my eyes up and threw my makeup out of my handbag and…

Not really. I took the woman’s word that the strawberry and lemon muffin was worth a try. And while it’s no raspberry scone, it’s not half bad.

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