You know, I shall never fully understand the lure of Coffee. Yes it deserves that capital C. It has long been touted as the nectar of the hard working demi gods that stroll among us.
Creative types – think artists, writers and other miscellaneous aesthetically based careers – have a tendency to drink affected little cups of espresso served up in darling little art deco cups. Totally original retro you know, not reproduction. Whereas business types barrel straight through on Lattes. Mochas and Cappuccinos, the ubiquitous white Styrofoam cup clutched like a safety shield in the face of recession. Not for them the plain cardboard styling’s of your local coffee house (yes, we have those in England now. Saints preserve us). And If you really want to go for it? I give you the hippy eco-conscious yummy mummy (who secretly shops at Harvey Nics for her hemp lined fully sustainable underwear). Gripped in skinny hands are Chai teas, Green Teas and Peppermint infusions, sipped at like a mouse in church. You just know that eventually they will cave and gulp down buckets of black coffee that is strong as Hercules. But you know. We don’t talk about that.
Anyway, back to the main point. I am rather wired here, at work, due to three cups of coffee. The nasty stuff. My mouth tastes like the offspring of a particularly ammonia laden porta-loo and a moulting cat. No amount of polo’s will shift it. I am fairly certain at this point my tongue can be used as a biological testing ground. And for what? An hour of high voltage activity followed swiftly by a plunge to earth that Icarus would be proud of? I fail to see the point. The blurry beginnings of a migraine is starting to circle the edges of my temples. The blame, I fear, is entirely caffeinated.
Tomorrow I return to Peppermint Tea. Bring on the middle class hippy leanings, pretensions be damned.