Living for Disco

It’s freezing cold, and drizzling as only Welsh clouds can drizzle. A baleful goose stands damply in a puddle outside the door. I assume the door is there to keep the cold out, but it is woefully bad at its job. We decide to get a cup of tea to see if we can warm our frozen blood up.

Everything is fine until Gordon asks if they do Mocha. I resisted the urge to laugh. I mean, I grew up in a part of the world where uttering the word ‘cappuccino’ in public would earn you a clip round the ear and banishment to the bathroom to wash your mouth out with laver bread. The girl, who is wearing a tabard, looks confused. She says “We have filter coffee?” hopefully, as if this will stop any more difficult questions flittering over the counter, and messing with the status quo.

“Well,” says Gordon, unaware of the mental havoc he is causing. “Do you think you could mix some filter coffee with some hot chocolate for me?”.

There is a brief silence. The most extraordinary expression of disgust and horror pulls its way across her face. Her lip curls incredulously. Her eyebrows move steadily up her forehead until they are lost beneath her bangs. “Um,” she says, clearly terrified beyond her wits. ” We don’t have a machine for that.”

Fortunately, we find a spoon, and mix the coffee and chocolate together ourselves, once she is out of sight. When we leave, the goose is still pecking around in the puddle.

We decide we don’t really want to get married in this particular venue, and drive off into the rain.

This entry was posted on Thursday, November 29th, 2007 at 5:03 pm and is filed under Domestic bliss, Return from Africa. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.