Teeny amounts of January joy.
As a simple fellow, I take simple pleasures from simple things.
Such as? The reopening of a favoured indy’ café following a festive break?
Yes. Yes again. I’d even go as far as saying yay Bunce’s.
The familiarity of the greeting, the cosy seating arrangements, the delish’ coffee and the – illusion? – sensation that all is ohhh-kay just now.
I mean, sure, the Tories have a mandate to wreak havoc, the White House has a unstable narcissist in Office who likely has dementia, every media outlet in the known universe is hyperventilating for what they seem to think is an existential threat to the House of Windsor (which matters why exactly?), Oz is on fire, Iran…
No matter. I have coffee.
The immense privilege in which my family & I live is – of course – hidden within this. We have “survived” – ha! The dramatic language we use – Christmas, the team is back at work/school, festive-excess-bod’ is in full heft. The biggest issue, apart from all my clothes having mysteriously shrunk, is the (virtual) hefty thud of the credit card bill hitting the doormat. All things considered: how lucky are we?
Lovely flat white though.
The polar opposite to rock’n’roll/bleeding edge/startup/venture-capital? Right now, yes please.
The rest of the clientele are chatting away, excellent beverages to hand. Skilfully, I avoid thinking about anything of any importance and savour each sip. I flick through a newspaper then reconsider as it’s full of crises, urgency, stress. Ewww.
The team pause to chat consider how they’re going to play 2020:
“I’m going to be nice to my colleagues.”
“Really? Why such a big change from your behaviour last year?”
“Stick to the coffee and nobody has to get hurt” I offer helpfully.
“Don’t you start…”
I drain my cup.
[Mock offence] “Right, that’s it. I’m leaving.”
‘Suspect I’ll be back soon. Probably tomorrow.
They reopen the kitchen on Thursday.
As I say, yay Bunce’s.