Desperate

I’m missing cafes. Pre covid-19, I probably spent more time than the national average in cafes. At any moment in time I’ll have a couple of favourites. This love of hanging out over a tea or coffee, with or without a nibble, with or without company, is one of the things that Cornflake and I have in common.

Even with my Fat Tart status I have never completely bought into the Irish belief that tea is too wet without a biscuit, I am happy with just a hot drink much of the time.

We rarely have coffee at home. I’ll get some in if we’re having people for dinner but day to day, coffee usually means a trip out.

One morning last week I found that I really wanted, needed, a cup of coffee.

I found coffee and the cafetière. I was unaware that Cornflake had dismantled the plunger to thoroughly clean it and had reassembled it, he had done so incorrectly. Honestly this is what you might expect of his D I Y skills. When I plunged, a tsunami of coffee and grounds exploded in my face, down my dress and all over the kitchen, surfaces, walls, floor and appliances. The vision greatly amused my husband and I can appreciate that the look on my face was probably comedy gold. However, call me a humourless, old tart, but I didn’t laugh. It got less funny as I realised how far coffee grounds can travel under certain circumstances. I’m still finding bits in weird places.

This morning I bought a tin of instant, desperate times call for desperate measures..