If COVID wipes out the middle classes, then Brunch will be it’s delivery mechanism. The downfall of the well-to-do will be their unwavering desire to overpay for smashed avocado on toast. Brunch is COVID’s trojan horse.
While a second lock-down sweeps the UK, London has so far avoided the necessity. It seems strange London’s numbers deem it an open-door city.
Consider the size of population, the high-rise offices and flats, the cramped public transport services. One clue is that it also houses Parliament – imagine the outcry from the House if MPs were cock-blocked from their mistresses.
The supermarkets are coping under the weight of demand, and while delivery services are popular, queues remain for many stores. Yet this string of respectful punters pales when compared to those that form on weekends outside the local Brunchery.
Awaiting a free table, thronging masses disappear into the distance – down the high-street and around the corner. Couples and families, young and old – houses mingling to create a swarming petri dish. Pushchairs proliferate and create a pavements-blockade that would make an anti-mask demonstration jealous. You take your life in your own hands walking past – stepping into oncoming traffic is a safer bet.
I implore you people, for your own health and the health of those you love – order a sack of avocados, let them ripen at home in your fruit bowl, then smash your own. If you don’t know how – I do wonder how you’ve survived life this long – a quick Google of “Bill Grainger Avocado” will provide all the education you need.
So stay away. No more queuing, leave the pavements and Bruncheries empty. That way I can get a table and enjoy my oat-milk latte in peace.