Lovely day, lovely day
Our tiny town has lots of cafes, none of which I've used more than a couple of times, not to say that's because I don't go out for coffee often, I go out for coffee multiple times a week, I've got to be the only person that will drive 20 miles to a shopping village, dive straight into Starbucks for an hour and drive home again, without frequenting any of the shops that are supposedly so good that half of Wales seems to also be there on a day trip.
What I'm saying is, there are cafes. There's the locals cafe, which is horrible for wheelchair access, is miles from the car park and the pavement that takes you there is narrower than I am. There's the gay couple from London's cafe, where you can pay £4.50 for a plain bagel if have that much money to throw around. (Incidentally, they have only been open for 3 months, I give them 6 months top before they realise that this is Somerset, we are not posh, you will go bust) and then there's the 'set up in an old folk's front room' cafe, that only has space for 3 small tables and even a whispered conversation echos into the kitchen. Until now, there has been much quantity and little quality.
Last weekend a new cafe opened and I have been more times than I care to admit. It's simply gorgeous. Built in an old barn, it has high ceilings, beams and sink into sofas. The North side is full glass that looks out over the river, making the room light and spacious, cool and crisp. The toilets are huge, the parking right outside the door is for disabled only. The enormous range of coffee flavours and blends are to die for and the slices of perfect homemade cakes are generous in size but low in price. I seriously think I've found heaven and after only 10 days of opening their doors they know me by name.
I took Dad there today and boy was he happy. He loved it as much as I do and we spent a good 2 hours chatting and laughing more than we have in a long time. All the while I couldn't help but look at him and think, "your face is no longer gaunt, your hair is no longer thin, your voice is no longer weak and your smile is no longer missing". A year ago this month we were told he was dying and it was going to be sooner rather than later. In the next 3 months we will hit 3 separate dates on which we were told he most likely wouldn't live until the end of the week. Yet here he is, sat with me, with his twinkly eyes and his animated laugh, drinking up the goodness of life whilst putting two fingers up to the estimations given.
We're returning tomorrow, I want to repeat the experience, with the perfect person in the perfect place.
