Coffee no more

Coffee… Oh coffee. I think I’ve dedicated entire blogs to you before.

I started drinking coffee aged about 16, when mum was a glamorous divorcee about my age, out on the town. I was negotiating the rapids of expensive fee paid schools. I found a photo of myself in uniform today and barely recognised the jumped up little fucker.

That boy in the photo – back then he was drinking NescafĂ© Gold Blend like water. Milk in first. He could get through about 7 cups a day, and he did. Then he went bouncing around through varieties of gauche and naive social interactions, just as immediate as now, but absent of wisdom.

I don’t really remember when he switched to the hard stuff. But the version of me that started this blog loves it too much.

If I was more stable and organised I’d be like Minnie’s dad and I’d have a Spong grinder mounted on the wall of the kitchen and evangelise it. I’d get sexy coffee beans sent to me by mail order. I’d have a milk frother.

Problem is, I keep on sleeping in different places and I haven’t got a great budget for luxuries. Right now I’m in Barnes. The coffee here is in a bag like a teabag, which doesn’t pass muster. I wake up in the morning and stumble into my shoes, take the dog for his morning wee and buy expensive coffee from the hipster place round the corner.

If I’m at home or in Hampstead I get the stove top bubbling before I’m even fully awake. “Coffee!” is frequently my first utterance of the morning, usually to myself as I start padding past the boxes full of weird stuff located all round the flat to the fridge. If I wake up in a place where good coffee is not possible it becomes a mission, and I’m grumpy until it’s accomplished.

I’ve been grumpy all day.

I don’t like it when things get hold of me.

I’ve stopped drinking it. I’ve been weaning myself gradually off it, but today was the stop day and my head has been an absolute bastard. I’ve got that tight withdrawal headache. I’m not sure how long I’ll stay off the stuff, but remembering the head you get when you stop is a useful motivation to stay clean. It’s 10pm and I’m pretty tired though. I might start to have something resembling a decent circadian rhythm before long. Heaven forbid. At least I get to hang with this little dude.

Author: albarclay

This blog is a work of creative writing. Do not mistake it for truth. All opinions are mine and not that of my numerous employers.

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