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Clean windows and posh coffee

I have failed in the middle-class stakes. 

With a few extended-pole brushstrokes and his cheery greeting, the window-cleaner starts my day on a positive note – only to crush my self-esteem minutes later by politely refusing my offer of a cuppa. It seems that my neighbour offers proper coffee ‘from one of those nice machines’ so he always stops off there.

When I had picked myself up, I glimpsed said proper coffee sitting neatly on the garden wall – in a proper china cup – while he finished the french doors.  

I cannot compete.

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