After climbing a mountain only organic fizz will do '“Â Steve Canavan
Can I have an organic lemonade please?Â That was what I said to a dark-haired girl, the waitress at a slightly pretentious cafe on a day out in the countryside.
I say slightly pretentious because it had potpourri in the gents and a sign above the urinals saying 'Things turn out best for the people who make the best of the way things turn out'.
It is obviously complete rubbish but is the kind of thing some people purchase from Ikea for a tenner to try and make themselves appear intelligent and deep-thinking.
I also '“Â and let me be clear about this '“Â would never usually order organic lemonade.
It is the kind of thing I imagine Hugh Grant drinks.
It was, however, a mild day, I'd just come down from a mountain where I'd consumed a full flask of tea, and it was the only cold thing on the menu I fancied.
The waitress wrote my order down '“Â clearly one lemonade was too tricky to remember '“ and then returned a couple of minutes later and plonked on the table a bottle of Sprite.
Call me picky, but I'm not sure that Sprite, a sticky, fizzy, sugar-filled drink, made by the same folk who manufacture Coca Cola, is organic.
Nor is it lemonade.
Being the archetypal English wimp, I smiled meekly and said '˜thank-you'.
But as she walked away, and perhaps stirred by the sudden realisation I was about to pay Â£3.95 for something I could '“Â if I had wanted '“Â purchased in a can from the newsagents next door for less than a quid, I suddenly thought no, I'm not having this.
'˜Excuse me,' I called.
She'd just collected some dirty dishes from another table and looked distinctly cheesed off that I'd bothered her while she had her hands full.
'˜I'm very sorry about this,'Â I said (though what I was apologising for I'm not quite sure), '˜but I think (again I'm not sure why I said that '“Â IÂ knewÂ what I'd ordered) I asked for an organic lemonade.'
She looked at me like she was examining a dog hair she'd found in her lunchtime bowl of soup.
'˜Do you not like Sprite?'Â she asked.
This threw me a bit.
I'd been expecting her to apologise profusely, whisk my drink away and return with a beautiful beaker full of freshly sparkling organic lemonade.
'˜Erm, well it's okay, but it's just that I think it said organic lemonade on the menu and so I, erm, sort of assumed it would be something other than a bottle of Sprite.'
Without a word of a lie, and while shooting me a look which screamed 'I detest you more than anything or anyone on earth', she said, 'if you like Sprite what's the issue?'
So shocked was I that I thought I'd misheard her.Â
Before I'd had chance to think of something intelligent and articulate to reply with, such as '˜are you having a laugh love?', she disappeared off into the kitchen.
I was now a bit flummoxed and suddenly became aware that everyone else in what was rather a full cafe was looking at me.
One guy even tutted slightly and shook his head, before, if I heard him correctly, turning to his wife and saying, 'why do some people just love to cause a scene?'
Feeling defeated and embarrassed, I sipped my Sprite in rather ashamed fashion as quickly as I could, chucked four quid on the table, and slunk out of there.
When I raise a glass to toast the new year on Monday, I will make sure I am drinking anything other than a glass of organic lemonade.Â