I wished with all my heart and soul that it was going to be a Gregg's, but it wasn't a Gregg's. Nowhere near. It was a cafe called ''Le Petit Cafe' and all the sandwiches were fifteen quid.  
All the snacks were made out of tiny dead birds and the chef rinsed his dirty hands under a peeing dog. 
If you want to pay for the sandwiches you have to wait until the baby stops crying and the only way to do that is slap its face. 
Then you can pay, but only with sex. 
There used to be a juggler outside 'Le Petit Cafe, but because of Austerity now there's just a bearded man who'll let you humiliate his genitals for fifty pence. There is a queue of people with fifty pence pieces going all around the corner and down the street.  
All the foodstuffs are imported from regimes.  if you want to buy a copy of the Guardian you have to cut your hand. The Newsagent cuts his hand too and then you shake on it and become blood brothers.  You do it because you want to read the Guardian, but you have no idea what kind of blood-borne diseases the Newsagent has. 
He has a lot.  There's one, which goes straight to your scrotum, and you can't use communal showers for at least six weeks.  
Eventually, after a long time, everyone agreed that it was a good idea to leave the European Union after all, and that life in England was better than ever before. 
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