Shall I cut myself a slice of cake?

We went in search of puddings. West of the ocean and east of the pudding line ( For they make no decent deserts east of the Urals or south of the tropics) this should not be a grave undertaking but the options in The Wharf proper are a little limited, Nero, Starbucks, anonymous chain coffee shops (and I omit Biera whose cakes are like the fragile metal of 50's Fiat, apt to disolve into flakes at the merest pressure). A recent arriviste on the scene is Paul a rustic french confection tucked under the rustic British escalators. But if you ignore the back drop, the faux wood and faux nicotine staines, and focus on the puddings it does look like the real deal. We were tempted by the tarts and distracted by the framboise slices. An indulgence that left us nil points short of a tenner. The cakes were good though, very good..but such pleasures are passing; I have almost forgotten the yeilding sponge, the crisp raspberries and the rich black foamy coffee. And it occurs to me that in purchasing a top slice of cake I have bought an expensive experience that is unlikely to last. I will not , for example, say to my putative grandchildren, "I remember that trip to a posh cake shop." No the true gourmet of experience shopping buys things that are not to be forgotten...like a bunch of flowers for example.