HOME-SPUN DISAPPOINTMENT

Time for a quick update from Caffe Nero. First off, the Greek yoghurt with honey was just right for today. Second, the tea gently steams in front of me, in a cup.

I've come into Reading today. Well, I figured I haven't been utterly frustrated or mildly disappointed for a while, so why not buzz into town for a good old-fashioned let-down?

Ah it's not Reading itself; there's a lot that's good about the place. It's mostly just the town centre, on a Saturday, with lots of people in it.

I had to pick something up from Argos. That was annoying. They lost my number from the Screen of All Knowledge (order number three hundred and fifty six... to your collection point please) and an eleven minute wait turned into a half-hour one. In the end I wandered up to collection point A, waited for two minutes and then a cardboard cutout in a t-shirt turned round, picked my item off the shelf without moving his feet and slid it towards me. It had been there for twenty minutes I reckon.

There were a few angry mums in town today as well. They get incandescent with rage, these toddler-controlling, pushchair-maneouvring fireballs. I have a theory about exactly why, but it's not for now... or probably ever, now that I think about it. I'd be confused and terrified if I were shouted at like that, I think, especially if I didn't know that the rules of behaviour appear to change wherever I get dragged to.

I quite like this short part of the retail year. The summer is over but there's no real sign of shops gearing up for Christmas yet. It's even too early for pumpkins in card shop windows.

The Peruvian Piper was back - full headdress and feathers today, blasting his haunting South American music to the crowds of bag-clutching shoppers in Broad Street. I watched him for a while. I wonder what would happen if I went to Lima or Santiago and played Greensleeves on the harpsichord while wearing a bowler hat and a Union Jack tie.

I didn't find the shoes I was looking for. That's okay though, I will figure it out. I tried on a few pairs in some hot, dark shops. In one, the music sped up my heartbeat and made me feel anxious. In another, I clacked around the store, looking for a mirror, before realising that the tight clogs I was trying on were biting my ankles and incarcerating my toes. The search goes on.

So, Caffe Nero and then the train home. It is better than Starbucks certainly, but lacks the spacious charm of Waitrose. And crucially here, there are no tea pots. Are they dying out?

Anyway, that's certainly enough home-spun disappointment for one afternoon.