Bugbear #1

Mike: Petty grievances - We all have 'em. I just seem to have a great deal more than most. Actually, that's not quite true - I have started my life as a blogger with a filthy lie. I'm actually a reasonably well-rounded individual, with the patience of a saint, the stamina of a thoroughbred and the looks to match...

More lies... DAMN! Let's start again...

When I was at Yale, I...

By Zeus! I can't seem to stop myself! If what I write is nothing but a tissue of lies, then this whole exercise becomes somewhat redundant, doesn't it? OK, so back to the topic at hand. Put down your bags, children, and take out your books. You're going to have to take notes this period. Parker - it's your own time you're wasting. I can stand up here all day, you know.

Here goes... Now where were we? Oh yes! Bugbear #1...

For those that know me well (by which I mean, those people who have shared coffee, and therefore their soul, with me on occasion in the past), this first grievance will not elicit any gasps of astonishment. This is, after all, my first post - there will be no comings out or dark, brooding secrets being revealed... at least not yet. Maybe when I get bored sharing with you the minutiae of my life, noose-makingly dull that it is, I will concoct a rich, eccentric uncle who collects Nazi memorabilia... or a painful childhood kidnapping by Opus Dei cultists... For now, though, you'll have to trawl through the boring, introductory stuff... I mean, we have only just met...

What's that? The dot-dot-dot? I know, and I'm sorry... There it is again. It's a condition - a medical one - similar to the guy that starts every other sentence with the word "actually". I loath myself for doing it, but cannot for the life of me think of another way to write that little pause that comes in between a comma and a colon. You'll have to forgive me this petty foible, or switch to another blog... I'm not gonna change for you, for goodness sake! You're a complete and utter stranger...

So, onwards and upwards... We're entering the main body of the piece now. The introductory stuff has almost been dispensed with. Now comes true wit, insight and substance. Hold on to your hats, folks, and prepare to be enlightened...!

Filter coffee is as pure a thing as any other substance on God's most wonderful earth. The blackness at it's heart, the silver tendrils of steam, the rich crema floating atop it's majesty like a supernova drifting in endless space... Before you even drink a sip, the thing itself, the mug, the handle the smell, the small drip snaking it's way down the side, astounds the senses.

I know people for whom a morning mug of black coffee has become ritual. They clasp their hands together around their cup, as if at prayer, eyes closed in silent contemplation of the sacrament. A friend at university used to drink coffee like it was going rapidly out of style. If, for some reason, he found there was no time for a morning drink before leaving the flat for lectures, he would mix a teaspoonful of instant with a tiny drop of cold water, forming a brown, sludgy, coffee-smelling paste that he would gulp down in one, eyes watering.

I’m not that bad, but I am a purist. I understand, unlike many London coffee-makers, that a proper filter coffee is made, not with espresso and hot water, but with pure boiling water filtered directly through the ground beans. I cannot tell you the number of times I have been served an Americano having asked specifically for a filter coffee.

“Do you have any filter coffee?”

“Why yes! Would you like some?” (enthusiasm has been artificially added at this point)

“Yes please. Are you sure it’s filter coffee?”

“Why of course, you dear dear man…! Your suspicion is both endearing and saddening”

“You’re sure it’s not just an espresso with hot water added?”

“Well, yes… That’s exactly what it is. A filter coffee, my friend! Just what you requested!”

“No. [voice trembling here – even breaking with rage] That’s an Americano. I want a filter coffee.”

“Why do you hurt me so? You have cut me to the quick… I see now what it is to die of a broken heart. [clasps my hand in theirs] I must away, dear friend. The look in thine eye makes a cadaver of me…”



OK, OK… so the melodrama and Shakespearian sentiment slightly overdo my point… but the point remains. When you ask for one thing and receive another, you are justified in any action, should that involve severe physically violence against an unarmed barista… well, violence is so very subjective, don’t you think?

Now, I must go and clean my tools…

Good Night, and Good Luck