QUEUEING AT GREGGS What a difference a dough makes. Kneading her as if they’d never had that scorching row, hoping she’ll rise and rise again after the next punching down, this time playful, grabbing by the handful, her giving way to plunging fingers sinking stickily and being shaped and rolled and tucked into lightly greased pans, eased in by loving hands. And oh, so delicately ...