Today, there was a display of fresh-baked pastries in the window: almond croissants, apricot croissants, pain au chocolat, cinnamon whirls, all with that come-hither look in their eyes, like the pastry equivalents of George Clooney or Johnny Depp (the difference being that I've never been allowed to bite either George or Johnny).
I said to myself, 'Fran. Resist. Walk straight on. You know you said you were determined to -'
I interrupted myself, saying, 'Not listening. Not listening. Not listening.' And dashed into the shop before I could reply.
'What can I get you?' the shop assistant asked.
'Can you get me a body like Cara Delavigne's?' I said.
'We have none in stock, I'm afraid,' she said.
'In which case, I'll have three of those almond pastries and give up the fight,' I said.
Actually, that conversation didn't h…