Thankfully, he was more laissez-faire with my chilli jam, which I left in a blob on the side. I spent the next 10 minutes half chatting to Lynne and half ogling the ladies – one of whom ordered nothing at all but sat, her bejewelled and manicured hands grimly by her sides, watching her friends eat Not that they ate much. They mainly smoked.Their abstinence made me want to stuff my face, which I duly did when my brill arrived. It was massive, succulent and tasty – and it left me with no room for my side order of chips, which I swear were from McDonald’s. Lynne’s cod was “a tiny bit bland” but the olive tapanade saved it. She also took exception to the music: I thought it was unobtrusive, she thought it was “clangy in your ears, but maybe OK if the place was full”.

(Only five tables were occupied.)”Will you come shopping afterwards?” I asked Lynne, eyeing up the ladies’ bags, before we ordered dessert (£4). I was displeased to find a lot of pretend fruit – apricot and almond tarte with custard, passion fruit meringue and clotted cream etc. Look, either offer unadulterated fruit, or commit to gluttony – don’t faff. The one chocolate option was a sticky chocolate torte, which was stickyish and pertaining to chocolate but not viciously sweet and headrushy enough for my taste.Lynne huffed when her summer berries came smothered in sabayon. “The whole point of summer berries is, they’re summery and berryish!” she cried, losing her sulky expression the second she tasted the mixture – exquisite to the point of indecency.The ladies had gone by the time we paid. “Imagine, going out to eat and the food not being the point!” marvelled Lynne That kind of thing is unheard of in Golders Green But this was nothing.

I stepped into the sunshine and who should I see but James Hewitt, sauntering along in blazer and tie, hair golden and slick, every inch the handsome rake. As I gaped, a lunchy sort of lady purred into her mobile, “There’s James”.Truly, another country.. Regular readers may recall that, some weeks ago, this column spoke about the insatiable Californian appetite for “cult” wines made in the Napa Valley. If you are not a regular, here’s the essentials: low supply, high demand and the prodigious wealth generated mostly in Silicon Valley combine to produce outlandish prices for Napa’s rarest wines The wines themselves may or may not be wonderful The money they fetch is definitely amazing. Regular readers may recall that, some weeks ago, this column spoke about the insatiable Californian appetite for “cult” wines made in the Napa Valley. If you are not a regular, here’s the essentials: low supply, high demand and the prodigious wealth generated mostly in Silicon Valley combine to produce outlandish prices for Napa’s rarest wines The wines themselves may or may not be wonderful.