My friend and I went out to dinner tonight. It was at her invitation and it all sounded grand until . . . What time and where? I text. The Chocolate Pavilion at Southbank she texts in reply. Hmmm, doesn’t really sound dinner-like I think to myself, but what the heck, surely there will be something ‘proper’ on the menu. Firstly I can’t find the cafe. I walk up and down Little Stanley Street and it just isn’t there. And then on my third pass I spy it – I was looking for a sumptuous and alluring facade but what I find is a bright lighted venue with little visual appeal. My friend arrives and we um and arr about whether it is open or not. We can see a lone figure sitting at a table and a fellow sweeping the floor but that is it. We try the door, yep it’s open, we are feeling conspicuous (well I am anyway), so we walk in and take a seat. The lone figure rises, the fellow puts down his broom, we are the on...
