Hot Donuts Rule
Can there be anything finer than the market stall donut? I mean, I am not that bothered about normal donuts. Dunkin Donuts in the US - mneyp. Alright, I suppose. I guess. But the market stall donut? The one from the burger van?
There you are, walking down the street, thinking virtuous thoughts. Like, you know, maybe I should pop into boots and buy a smoothie. (Boots, for the uninitiated - large pharmacy, like Walgreens would be if it were twice as classy and sold less hardware...). Maybe I should get some fruit - there's a Sainsbugs over there (Sainsbury's - no US equivalent. I don't even know how to compare it. You'll just have to find out for yourselves.). Then this smell drifts over the town centre. A sort of hot sugary smell, with a hint of fresh bread in it. No! You think - I do not need fried dough rolled in sugar! I am going to have a smoothie! The smell gets stronger. It drowns out the hint of last night's alcohol on the street. It is stronger than the smell of Lynx (Axe) from the teenager-sho-thinks-he's-Beckham in front of you. But without a conscious decision being made, you are in a donut van queue.
OK, you think. Just one. You watch the donut making machine squirt the dough into the fat, and the golden little halo drift through the conveyer belt of fat into the tray of sugar. It's hypnotic.
"What can I get you, love?" says the van-person. ANd before another thought has formed, you say, "four donuts please!" and hand over your money. There goes the diet.
Burning your fingers, you eat the first donut, getting sugar on your face, your hands, your coat, and mysteriously, the inside of your handbag. How did that happen? It is a mystery almost as great as what happened to the other three donuts, that you couldn't possibly have eaten that quickly. Where did they go? Oh well, never mind, what about that smoothie?
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