So, within minutes of ordering my coffee and joining the two or three others waiting for their brew, I'm standing there tucking into this cream-laden delight.
As I say it has been a while since I've indulged in such a treat. I'd forgotten there is an art to consuming the beast without cream/jam/icing sugar dust etc spurting out everywhere.
In fact, now I think about it, the last time I bought a cream doughnut I was probably a youngish (but strikingly good-looking) schoolboy eager to impress that hot chick from the third form who was into the Bay City Rollers.
From memory that hugely significant 50 cents I spent on an apple pastie and a doughnut didn't do the trick.
Anyway.
The now bearded 57-year-old version of me is hoeing into this cream doughnut and, you guessed it, stuff is going everywhere.
So much stuff in fact the lady a yard away is giving me Mrs P-type disapproving glances. Obviously, I need to move so I take a few paces to the left, a bit closer to the door.
A quick wipe of the face and beard with the ever present handkerchief (thanks Elaine from Marton) and I'm all set to go in for another bite.
Unfortunately, it all goes pear shaped from here.
I'm not sure whether I tried to bite too much or whether I got the approach angle wrong but I ended up with a streak of cream under my right eye and some more dangling from my beard.
My fingers now covered in creamy goo, I didn't bother going back for the handkerchief, preferring instead to quickly wipe away the cream under my eye with a finger.
I was too late to get the bit of debris on my beard and it dropped to the floor in front of me.
Being a tidy Kiwi I realised I needed to shift it fast before anyone saw it but with no bin near I figured the best place for it was simply to chuck it outside into the gutter and then worry about it from there.
Remember of course I'm now standing reasonably close to the automatic door which has just opened, a key point as it happens.
Quick as a flash, in one movement I've bent down scooped up the fallen dollop of cream and donut and thrown it through the open door.
I kid you not when I say the gutter and relief from my embarrassing plight was right there in front of me, not two yards away.
What I failed to grasp amid the unfolding drama was the door opened because somebody outside had gotten close enough to activate it.
Thus, as the cream splodge was hurled through the door, coming through it from the other side was a rather gigantic truckie-bloke basically just minding his own business.
I have to say the timing of this incident was immaculate.
And, just like in the movies, there was one of those stunned silence moments when we just stood there waiting for the laughter to break out – me with a horrified "what have I done, I think I'm dead" look crawling over my face and him with a "what the . . . " look on his.
Thankfully, this guy was a pretty chilled bloke. He immediately saw the funny side of the incident and roared with laughter.
Of course I apologised profusely and bought him a coffee, leaving him eager to get back to his yard and relay the details of the incident to his workmates.
I sped off in the opposite direction vowing to never touch another cream doughnut and thinking Judith Collins may just have been absolutely correct about those personal choices.
• Kevin Page is a teller of tall tales with a firm belief too much serious news gives you frown lines. Feel free to share stories to editor@northernadvocate.co.nz (Kevin Page in subject field).
