I was Pret’s biggest fan — now our relationship is going cold

Let me start by saying I love Pret. I wrote my first novel in the Pret opposite Vogue House and thanked it in the book’s acknowledgments; I am a long-time worshipper of Pret’s egg mayo sandwich; I protested loudly on Twitter when Pret scrapped its egg and sun-dried tomato breakfast baguette; over the course of my working life, I estimate I’ve drunk nine billion of its americanos (“white amo, please,” I ask pathetically when I order one, as if using the Pret baristas’ own parlance will make them like me). I love the berry muffin; I love the prosciutto baguette; I love the fact that, in London, you’re never more than three feet away from a restorative packet of its chocolate almonds. In summary, and