The joy of coffee

Its wonderful, wonderful stuff, and I’ll freely admit that I’m addicted to it. If I don’t get my cuppa in the morning, I’m as cross as crabs all day. In South Africa, most people drink those awful chicory / coffee blends that taste like pencil lead – can’t abide the stuff – I’d rather go without.

Anyway, as you can imagine after reading the previous post about my delightful accommodations, there wasn’t so much as a whiff of decent coffee to be found anywhere in the place. ‘No problem’ you’re saying (or should be if you’re paying attention) ‘She’s in the big city, she’ll find coffee shops on every corner’. Well, yes and no, but mostly no.

The problem with Cape Town, if you don’t know it (which I don’t), is that one wrong turning can take you miles out of your way before you can turn back. Not wanting to end up in the Antipodes, I had to hope to find a filling station on one of the routes I happened to be following and look for coffee there, but oh! What a joy it was to find that grail in a paper cup after hours of questing, to sit back and enjoy the heady elixir on the grass outside (I need to smoke when I drink coffee, so of course, out I go) and to feel it seeping into the blood stream like… like… really good coffee.

Oh coffee thou art my true delight

You keep me awake into the night

You make my ulcers burn so hot

But I’d rather have you than.. er

Not?

See? True inspiration!