The friendly lady to my right polishes off a large plate of toad-in-the-hole plus trimmings quicker than I eat half a tea cake. She then orders steamed syrup sponge (with two spoons please, love) despite her husband protesting that he is full.
Some sort of plastic nylon mesh cloth is covering my table and makes the drop of Pepsi that missed my glass float and spread outwards like the multiplying bacteria you see in speeded-up videos. My plastic flower-patterned place mat is duplicated across the room making an appearance on every single table.
It was a bit sticky when I arrived so I covered it with the carefully sculpted piece of kitchen roll that was masquerading as a napkin on my table. There is a bundle of white spray-painted twigs in the middle of the table as well as three plastic tulips with a thin film of dust and grease covering them. There are many-sided star-shaped flourescent coloured cardboard signs with bits of the menu written on them and a seventies style gas fire which is turned onto the highest setting.