ONE PERSON'S SPAT IS ANOTHER PERSON'S SPIT ... WHEREVER YOU GO!

Shock waves rippled across the Thames last night as a Trio of Baristas -- one from Slovenia, one from Japan and one from Nepal -- grilled me on the English language at the Starbucks near my hotel in Mayfair. "Tell me," said the Slovenian, "Can you explain to me what this word means?" He held up a card with the word Spat written on it. "Are you serious,?" I asked, "You don't know what a Spat is?" "No," he replied, "We've been arguing about it all evening." "Well, then, you were having a Spat," I said, "Because a Spat is a minor argument." "No, no, no," chimed-in his colleague from Japan,"It can't be an argument ... it's something else altogether." "Look," I said, sternly, "I'm sure it's an argument!" "No," he spat, "It's the stuff that dribbles out of your mouth!" It was as if I had stumbled into an Alternate Universe, one where the Perfect Oatmeal had been replaced with Imperfect Porridge (pictured above) and the Apple Fritters (pictured below) have a certain glow about them. Meanwhile, at that very moment, inside sources report that a Major Spat took place at 7th and Montana thanks to a Wild Woman in a Purple Jumpsuit who began videotaping, then attacking her ex-husband before an astonished crowd. Genevieve, Rob and Robin were agog as the woman ripped off her ex-husband's shirt and began beating him furiously. By the time the police arrived to take her away (in handcuffs, no less), she was clutching at his knees for dear life. "It was the story of the year at 7th and Montana," wrote Genevieve in an e-mail, but I have my doubts. Now if the woman Spat at her ex, that would be news ...!