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And as everyone above the age of six knows, a coffee with frothy milk is not called a "frothy coffee"; it's a latte or a cappuccino, and it's often served with perfectly unremarkable little biscuits. This is normal now: Britain might not be in great shape, but in the 21st century Italian food no longer exclusively comes out of a tin and more than one type of coffee is available to all. It's reasonable to assume that Owen Smith, who made a six-figure salary at Pfizer, has had enough access to the good things in life that he knows the names of all the different types of coffee. Owen Smith lied to us. He pretended not to know what a cappuccino is or how it's served, and he lied.There's a sad, keening desperation to that lie, a frantic insistence that he's utterly baffled by a perfectly normal cup of coffee. "I tell you," he says. "Seriously," he says. Try to picture the scene: Owen Smith's delicious, milky cappuccino is plonked down on the table in front of him, but suddenly there's a wrenching, sickly twist in his gut. Is this what normal people drink? He tries to remember: something about builder's tea with four sugars, something about the burly pub-goer's instinctual hatred of fancy coffee with little biscuits in foil sachets. The fate of the country might depend on this. And so out comes a hasty flurry of excuses: this isn't my coffee, I've never seen this coffee before, you can throw it down the toilet for all I care. Little biscuits? I don't know whether to eat them or shove them up my arse. This is how you connect with ordinary people.Receiving his "frothy coffee" in Pontypridd's Prince's cafe, Owen Smith stopped mid-sentence to express some amusement. "I tell you it is the first time I have ever been given little biscuits and a posh cup in here," Smith said, looking up at the owner David Gamberini, as his order was placed on the table. "Seriously, I would have a mug normally," the MP added, examining the refreshments in front of him.
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