I have a confession to make.
After years of restraint, circumspection and self-discipline, I have slipped.
I have fallen off the wagon.
I'm drinking again.
No. Not alcohol. (Sorry, Penelope.)
Not alcohol, but almost as bad.
The dreaded bean.
Coffee.
I managed to kick the habit three years ago, fighting my way through the withdrawal headaches to the point where I actually believed I didn't need it anymore. But there's nothing compares with the smell of freshly brewed coffee in a morning (not even napalm), and I've been lured back in. Maybe I needed a little drug abuse to help me deal with the back pain. Whatever my excuse, I'm drinking again. And though it's only a couple of times a week, I can feel the addiction digging in its claws.
I'm limiting my abuse to proper coffee only. Filter coffee, never instant. Which means I only drink when I'm out or visiting my folks, occasionally at home (via cafetiere)... and every now and then, from a coffee shop.
This morning I had to take my car in for a new exhaust. With an hour to kill, I drifted into town and found myself besieged by coffee shops. I'd actually intended to go record shopping. Louise found a band on the Glastonbury coverage we both thought sounded pretty cool (The Avett Brothers) and I thought I'd pick up their CD. I remember when I was a kid, a trip into town offered a myriad of possible music outlets. Now there's only sad old HMV. The lone survivor of the high street music decimation. And did they have the disc? Did they buggery. No record shops then... but thousands of coffee shops. Everywhere you look. Starbucks. Cafe Nero. Costa Coffee. Merrie England (!) Not to mention the independents. There's a coffee shop on every corner. How do they all stay in business? Are we that addicted?
I chose an independent. The last time I visited Starbucks I was disturbed to discover their takeaway cupholders are made from 'post-consumer fibre'. How Soylent Green is that? I liked the look of this place though, and the fact that the owner was playing (and singing along to) Gene as I walked in. His patter was slick too - "there you go, young man" - till I realised it was just his standard routine. You feel less enamoured by someone addressing you as "young man" when he gives the same line to the pensioner following you in the queue. But then it happened. The thing I've found keeps happening, ever since I started frequenting coffee shops again...
It's always the same. I walk in and make my order. I've never been one for mocha-frappa-bollocksa-chinos. My needs are simple. I just want a plain black coffee. So that's all I ask for...
"Regular black coffee, please."
Is that not clear enough? Is there some room for misunderstanding? No? So please, someone tell me, why do I keep hearing the same question whenever I ask for a regular BLACK coffee...?
"Do you want milk with that?"
Seriously. Is it just me?
