In a complete 180 from last week's Butley bunfight, this week's outing was easy to find, splendidly sunny, crunchingly low cost and featured a far less contentious drive(r). I could end it there; naturally I won't, not while the words are flooding out like Tetley tea.

Back before Beijing, we spent all of 15 seconds in the No 10 Teashop, leaving when we couldn't spot a spare table, only to land on our feet in the great Goat That Dances. Today the tide parts and we secure three seats plus a spare. There's a tiny A5 laminated menu with no mention of the cafe's name, and nothing that needs explaining: no Moroccan specialities here, ta very much. Grenvyle orders a pot of tea and, maybe using mirrors or sleight of hand, it turns up while the waitress is still jotting down our order. Nifty.

Isn't long to cast your eye over the minimally decorated interior (couple of Fram pictures, that's your lot) before the remaining items promptly appear. Tuna bap on brown for me: good size, freshly made, non-controversial side salad, enough said. This is plain food for People Who Know What They Like. Judging by the healthy turnover of customers, they do a good trade with the locals.

Dessert -- for we have oodles of time today -- is a simple slice of bakewell tart, plus cafetiere of OK coffee. Far too full to fancy anything from the sweet shop which occupies the front of the premises, though Andy has space to merit buying a quarter of Pontefract Cakes, to remind him of home and also 'cos the kids won't touch 'em. There's a shelf of fine china for sale, too. No, me neither.

If it was a car -- Triumph Acclaim.
If they were passing by -- Peter Sallis.