Someone once told me that a lot of car accidents in the summer are caused by men being distracted by women in their radiance and taking their eyes off the road. The post-industrial equivalent of sailors and mermaids.

But attraction can take many forms.

I’m walking to the high street at a pace that would usually be described as steady, but as today is a Sunday my gait is labelled deliberate.
This strut conceals an inner conflict. I’m caught in two minds. I’ve had the idea of a Sunday 2pm skewered chicken kebab wrap in my head for a few days now. It’s matured nicely but will soon go past its use by date.
But yesterday, as I walked to the first barbers I could find without a queue, I came across a newly renovated cafe. It looked very busy inside. Despite only being a mile from my flat, I was pleased with myself for still remembering my basics: don’t go into a restaurant if it’s empty at peak time. To be followed to the letter if you’re away from home. Wriggle room if you’re within your own post code and have done your research, i.e. read the racing form, familiar with the trainer, met the jockey etc.

I have a decision to make.

But just as I reach the point where I have to decide between skewered and queuered, I discover I’m a triplet. We must have been separated at the death of my last meal and the prelude to the next. A restaurant I hadn’t noticed before jumps off the curb at me. It looks as though someone skinned the fast black dragon from How to Train Your Dragon, draped the hairless fur over an ex newsagents, and then inscribed “Brioche Boys” in hellfire yellow tattoo parlour font over the “Oyster top up here” sign.

I’m pulled towards it like the ring to Sauron, like myself to fast food, like Frodo wearing the ring to Sauron. My peripheral vision reduced to ripher vision. The windows are heavily tinted. I have to get up close to see if it’s eat in or takeaway. A question which won’t effect my next action. Despite the machinations inside my head, my walk hasn’t changed. I’m swimming with the current. When I get 2 metres away from the window, I brake hard ready to turn 90 degrees to my left and squint through, what is effectively, a concrete wall made of charcoal.

But as I reach 60 degrees and my eyelids begin to narrow, I feel two noodly arms envelop me, followed by the impact of a thin ribcage against my top end of a healthy BMI ribcage. Already feeling guilty for my lunchtime intentions, my first thought is I’m being punished for eating crap. But even unworldly judges of gluttony shouldn’t adjudicate before a crime has been committed.
I can feel liquid on me. I fear the worst and look down. There’s a damp red patch on my Fila t-shirt. NONONO! Take me on a full stomach, not like this.
But hang on… there’s also a damp blue patch and a damp white patch. It’s sweat! I’ve been crashed into by a jogger!
I look up and the Hackney Half 2017 t-shirt is already 10 strides away from me. I reclassify him as a runner. There’s a hint of a head turn but no apology. A merciless hit and fun run.

I’m shaken, but carry out my task. It’s takeout only.

I push on the door. It’s not the door but part of the window. The proprietor opens the actual door for me.

I say I need some time. It’s my first visit and I’ve just been attacked by a peak Chris Akabusi who’s had the laugh sucked out of him by a dementor.
I already know I’ll try the first thing on the menu. I always do to get the measure of a new vendor. Some might say I’m playing into their hands as they always put their best dish first. Exactly. This is the one they back themselves on. Let’s see them pit their best against me.

I fantasise about having a 9 year old son and bringing him here with me.
He’d say “But Dad, there’s no soft French cheese on the menu?”
I put a hand on his shoulder and chuckle “no no, not that kind of brie son. Bree-osh. It’s a bread now often used for burgers.”
“What’s it like?”
“Well son, when you bite into a brioche burger the first thing you think you taste is the meat. But you did in fact go through bread, it was just incredibly light.”
“I’m not sure I understand. Could you provide an analogy?”
“Ask your uncle what wearing an overpriced gift shop poncho on the log flume at Thorpe Park is like”. I begin to fantasise about having a brother who, to this day, I still reminisce with about our childhood holidays when money was too tight to go abroad. We enjoyed these the most, the focus just being on spending quality time with each other.

Eventually I choose the cheeseburger. It’s actually the second item on the menu but I’m allowed because it’s a burger restaurant and the first is always hamburger.

It’s quiet so the cashier is forced to be amphibious and, after refusing my Amex (I conclude it’s not a chain), walks into the kitchen and starts flipping burger.

I’m emotionally exhausted and collapse upwards onto one of the too high stools next to a half a foot shelf which can’t fit a plate (the venue remains classed as takeout only).

I debrief mentally, leaving my son to creep behind the counter while the frog is underwater. I got what I wanted but my wandering eye, yet again, got me into trouble. I wonder if life would have been easier had I just bought a loaf of bread and a packet of crumbed ham from Co-op at the start of the weekend? I think so. But would it be as satisfying? Probably.