MuffinMan

This jaded, jade-coloured "teashop" is a very troubled case indeed. Doctors
we aren't but the Muffin Man - whoever he is - should be seeing someone
regarding his manifest identity crisis: the old station clock, tins of tea and
goodies stacked up on cake stands led us to believe we had arrived at a
traditional tea room, yet the lingering smell of chips wafting past the door,
coupled with the laminated menus and thin paper napkins are more evocative
of our old school canteen. It claims to be a tea shop yet the selection is
woefully limited and the food isn't much better. The counter sported a large
selection of Tupperware covered cakes, each of which looked as sickly as the
next, and was manned by two sulky blondes, who wouldn't lift a finger to help
but went out of their way to appear disinterested. If they didn't gel with the
customers, at least they harmonized with the weary, worn out decor.

Even the angry wee tea pot started had it in for us today, maliciously spurting
tea leaves before we'd even laid a finger on it. London is a big place and in our
opinion there are already plenty of greasy spoons around which we'd much
rather patronize.