The problem is, cake.

I’m currently sat in Costa coffee shop, Eltham. I come here once a week for breakfast. As things stand, Serkan has Wednesday mornings off, which means I have to get myself dressed and breakfasted. It isn’t that bad: putting my shoes and socks on takes a bit of effort, but after that I can get in my chair and come up here. On clear days like this morning, I take the long route along Middle Park Avenue and King Johns Walk, with its stunning views across London.

The staff here now know me quite well: they know I like a large cappuccino with a cheese and ham toastie.  They help me get my straw out of my bumbag and put sugar in my coffee. I can then get on with quietly eating breakfast, shoving the hot toastie into my mouth by hand and slurping the cappuccino.

However, sat where I am, where I usually sit, I can see a fine array of cakes on the counter. They look very tempting. The problem is they wouldn’t be eatable by hand. I can’t use spoons or cutlery, so I need someone to feed me something like a piece of cake. As kind as they have been to me, I don’t think I can ask a member of the costa staff to feed me. Trying to feed myself a piece, as delicious as it looks, would just end in a chocolatey carnage; most would probably just end up on the floor. Alas, it would seem that there are still limits to my independence, but at the end of the day (or rather, the beginning) it’s great just to sit here like any other, ordinary Londoner.