Carlyle grunted non-committingly as he sucked down on a latte that was way too cold for his liking. He always asked for it ‘extra hot’ and the Brazilian/Indian/Ukrainian/whatever boy/girl behind the counter would nod happily and then serve him up something that was barely lukewarm. It drove him mad. Often he would take it back and complain; get them to make it again. One time he caused such a fuss that the manager followed him out into the street and threatened him with a good kicking. It was a great example of traditional British customer service at its finest. Carlyle would have happily arrested him on the spot if he hadn’t been late for a court appearance, This morning, however, he refused to get angst-ridden about his coffee. Rather, he just wanted to get as much caffeine as possible into his system as quickly as possible, cold or not, to try and compensate for the fact that he wasn’t still tucked up in bed. Twenty yards away, Alice was squealing in delight as a couple of young boys chased her round a tree.
