LUXURY PROBLEM
One of my favourite clichés from the months, nay, years I spent haunting the rooms of Narcotics Anonymous, and other twelve-step congregations. But today I had one...a luxury problem, that is.
I was in Nero, a well-known coffee-shop near to my exclusive pad, when I realised I needed the loo (possibly brought on by my Americano (which I'd nearly finished)). Was I to go toilet, and return to my drink? Or should I finish it, and then go? I had to factor in the fact that the drink, about half an hour old, had been bathing in strong sunlight, as shone through the southwest-facing window (it was around four in the afternoon (for optimum shine)). Feeling torn, perplexed, and peeved, I felt it was best to take my toilet, and return to enjoy the last inch of my Americano without the nagging from below hampering my enjoyment of it. And so I did. On my return, I savoured another ten to fifteen minutes at table, reading my braille Old Curiosity Shop, and sipping with a newfound nonchalance my still-warm Americano. And I didn't even feel that guilty about spending someone else's holiday, possibly yours, for the thousandth day of this peculiar sabbatical.
And, to return to my theme, this was indeed a luxury problem. In the thick of my using, I probably wouldn't have even got to Nero, that well-known coffee-shop near my bijou cabin, nor would I have been reading in braille my Dickens, nor would I have even been thankful of the sun's beams tweaking through the glass, warming both me and my beverage.
And the people who work there are so friendly, and I didn't really mind that I'd been in there virtually every day of the year, so far. They do a chocolate bear now, you know, called Bruno.
And here is a song in tribute to coffee-shops and cappuccinos everywhere...
The Coffee Shop Of Dreams
And that's all I have to say today, if that's ok. Tomorrow?
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