Half café

Open the door of half café and step inside. It is breezy and cool because the entire side wall of the building is missing, allowing you a pleasant view of the gardens.

All of the tables and chairs are uncomfortably narrow, because they are all sawn in half. They perch precariously on their two side legs, cunningly cantilevered onto floor plates that tone with the linoleum floor covering.

There is a sudden click as the time passes half-past and the minute hand of the half-clock retracts into the centre. You'll have to wait half an hour before it pops out again to continue showing the time. You notice the impressive display of potted plants, each in half a pot with a glass side so you can see the roots, and each mercilessly trimmed on one side.

The staff all wear the distinctive uniform of the place - one side white shirt and trousers and apron, the other half skin-tight black body-stocking.

You look at the menu but only the right half shows, lines of dots and prices. The food items are all on the missing left half. Never mind.

Your order of fried egg with toast and chips is brought to your half-table. Presented on a neatly sliced-in-half plate, the half fried egg oozes yolk into your half slice of toast. The half-chips sit in a little pile.

You reach into the little basket of cutlery and now your dilemma really starts. All the knives and forks are in two pieces. Do you use handles without ends, or ends without handles? This could get messy. At least you don't need to use the loos.