Year of Eating Differently (66): Costa, Old Compton Street

OK, it's a chain. And it's staffed entirely by mittel-Europeans (on closer consultation of my list of all flags, think that more exactly they might be Lithuanian), but they do a better job of serving you than the three English builders are managing with trying to get a half-constructed sofa down the stairs into the basement.
Presentation is a bit lacking - you can't see half the baked goods at the counter because there's a pile of tables in the way. Whether this is a protest at rabid over-commercialism, or incompetence, or just because the cafe is too damn small, squeezed as it is into the corner opposite the big green sex shop (and diagonally opposite Dirty White Boy) I just didn't care - my hands were ready to fall off due to the cold and me leaving my gloves at the office.
There are at least TWO lies in the next paragraph.
A brie and cranberry panino? It makes no sense, no sense at all. Is it Christmas already? If it is, surely I should drop the pretence of being vegetarian and binge on turkey, not on a combination of French, Italian, and - and - and where do cranberries come from again? New England, or something daft? Never mind. It's a well attested fact that the French don't celebrate Christmas, and moreover the Italians think that a traditional Christmas meal is a pannetone that's been hollowed out and filled with limoncello. And the panino is ok. Well, it's aaaalriiight, but in a mellow, drawn out kind of way, rather than the panicked yell of a builder as his chums drop the sofa on his head. But the pink innards are disconcerting - you start worrying that Vita has dosed you up with the wrong sandwich entirely, and even when you're eating it, part of you is saying this is wrong, this is so wrong. But it's not like a punishment beating.
For afters, got a muffin. Jolly excited about this because I had a ginger muffin in Costa in Bromley at the weekend (breakfast, I'm afraid, which says a lot about my diet and my burgeoning waistline) and it was better than the fabled Starbucks muffin of yore. This one has got icing on top and a uniform consistency throughout, unlike the disgusting muffins of Pret. A little concerned that it might be of pensionable age, given the display in the shop, and indeed, now it's up close it's not quite so appetising, but not to worry - this is great. It's exactly like a big lump of Jamaican Ginger Cake, but with icing too - well stoked is what I am.