Like so many, I find myself unable to work productively if I have not, on the way to work, been able to stop for coffee. I trace the habit back to a school trip to Italy led by the classics masters, Mr Shannon and Mr Youdale, if I remember correctly. There I made the life changing discovery of espresso, so unlike the powdered instant brew my parents favoured. There was also a percolator, but that was only fired up on state occasions. A bottle of Camp hid at the back of the cupboard, but I am grateful to say I was never made to drink it.
On my return, when I had moved up into the sixth form, I started using a café at the end of my road, convenient for the bus stop to school. It stood near the intersection of several bus routes which brought pupils from the villages around Cambridge in to school, and many would meet there. I remember one boy, at a different school, possibly the County Boys', who every morning would add to his coffee a generous shot of rum. He was kind enough to offer me some, which I accepted once, and once only. I have never got the hang of early morning alcohol. I can see him now, though I cannot remember his name, fair hair in a post-Mod haircut. What became of him?
Later, when I worked at the RCVS I would get off the tube one stop early, at Green Park, in order to stop for a coffee, and then a walk through Green and St James's parks. A Sardinian waitress would squeeze my hand when she gave me my change and I became convinced that she had fallen for my rugged good looks. I took to reading D H Lawrence's Sea and Sardinia ostentatiously. Then one day I noticed her squeeze another man's hand. Close observation over the next few days showed that she squeezed the hand of all male customers over 40, doubtless in pursuit of tips. I left a sadder and wiser man.
It is now impossible to throw a stones on a British High street without breaking the window of a coffee shop. Most of these are vile, and there is one chain whose coffee is so bad I will never frequent them. One of the others is just about tolerable but I shan't name them as I don't think they deserve the business.
Fortunately now the best coffee there is may be had in the Pantry in Wandsworth, well worth a detour, though for me it sits on my route to work.
