The Gorse Fox was thinking as he sat in the Starfleet restaurant, watching the Thames as tourist boats made the most of the glorious spring sunshine and pottered up and down river. Strafleet's facility is an anonymous building that would look at home in a remote communist-era city in the far reaches of the old USSR. Brutalist and charm-free.
This got him thinking about the restaurant itself. Expensive (13p for 4 fl oz of hot water) with diminishing portion sizes and staffed by people who would clearly prefer to do anything rather than serve, smile, or interact in anyway with their customers. With the exception of one or two individual they are as humourless as quick-set concrete.
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