“Let’s? just have? a sandwich for lunch,” said Darling Wifey. “I like the look of that place on the corner opposite the castle in Helmsley.”

“Two prawn sandwiches, please,” I asked the waiter.

They took our coats from us and served us drinks in the lounge. Then we were led to the conservatory, next to the pool, where we had a starter (a starter for a prawn sandwich!) of carrot & coriander soup with fresh baked basil & mint bread. Normally I would have crossed the street to avoid this sort of stuff, but it was actually pretty good.

Then the sandwiches arrived, with a side salad and some chips. And I never knew that chips could be cooked so perfectly: crunchy on the outside, fluffy on the inside and exactly the right shade of golden. And they didn’t even mark the plate with oil. Oh, and a sprinkling of freshly crushed rock salt.

I would have snapped my fingers for the waiter, but he was there before I had finished raising my arm. The coffee was obscenely delicious. In fact, only complaint was that the parking space didn’t have my name on it.

Anyway, now I have to write a begging letter to the bank…