Indulgence and change

I have been working in this building since February 1999, when we separated from our original parent as a joint venture with an Oxford university. The building was fitted out to be an ‘incubator’ for small businesses, offering fully serviced units complete with receptionist, telephones, networking and internet connection. With a number of small companies all in their early/startup phase, based on new technologies, it was natural that the building management would want to promote networking and synergy from ideas.

Thus was instituted the Friday Morning cake meeting.

As a ploy to draw people from their offices, we were offered coffee and cakes. Delicious cakes. Cream cakes. Large, flaky Danish pastries. Sliced Fruit cake, all moist and golden. Lush custard tarts. Doughnuts in different varieties. Fresh fruit tarts. Plus a host of other examples of the art of sweet baking to make the mouth water. In summer there would be cool fruit juices alongside the coffee, and at Christmas mulled wine was served.

It was a time we looked forward to – a treat at the end of the week.

This was probably a reflection of the building manager at the time. Anne Sophie (Vallier as was) was delightfully French, and the cakes were probably an expression of the appreciation of good food such people have. Her successors have been more restrained, more English, and although the cake selection was a shadow of its former glory, it was still bountiful enough to attract our company and appreciation.

Fast forward to the present. Friday cake time is like a shag on a rock: lots of anticipation, but in the end it’s rather disappointing and you leave feeling a bit uncomfy. We’ve become so disillusioned that most of us aren’t bothering to go. One week we were presented with platefuls of quiche. QUICHE for heaven’s sake (this isn't a baptist church)!!! The dead leftovers usually get placed in the common-room downstairs. These days it’s dog-eared looking sandwiches, huddled together like dishevelled refugees from a British Rail buffet car. They are filled with stuff like prawns and goo, egg and goo, 2 colours of cheese and goo, fish paste and goo. Today’s leftovers were a little different. Grey, crusty pasties piled together like a monument outside a tortoise graveyard. At this rate, by Christmas we’ll be able to do our own production of ‘Oliver’ complete with authentic gruel.

I think we might start our own cake-time. Maybe invite a few select companies to join us. Relive a few pleasant memories. Anne-Sophie, if you’re in the area then come and join us – I’ll shop to make it worth your while.