The Journey
1. After grinding the beans for a full French roast Carte Noir, to finish off a lovely Jerk chicken and rice and gungo pea lunchtime meal (reheated from 3 days ago, but the chicken had that slightly bad taste that almost makes me want to throw it up), and feeling contented that freshly ground coffee is better tasting than all the Taylor's of Harrogate ready ground and the vacuum packed Lavazza, Illy, in my experience (I feel and the ritual of getting the Braun grinder, with a cracked spindle, and using a Pyrex glass jug (1pint) as a substitute for cafeteria and allowing the coffee to settle (saturated with water) to the bottom of the jug and adding a millimetre of full fat milk) is a very cheaply gained luxury. The assorted miscellaneous items that bring to fruition the pleasure of being caffeinated by that most majestic of beans reminds me the battered pewter coffee flasks perched on the shelf at the back of the Scooter-works Café, Lower Marsh and whiling away the months I was ...