“Tangerine!” by Amanda Prowse

No 22 – “milk and two sugars…”

I despise snobbery in all its forms and yet dear friend I must confess, on occasion, to displaying some of the hateful traits I so dislike in others. I hope that when you have finished reading my words – you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me.

My weakness is for coffee. Good coffee. Fancy coffee. Well prepared coffee. Exquisite coffee!! I am entirely addicted and if I could have it intravenously, I would. The thought of a coffee is what gets me out of bed on a cold, dark morning and the smell of coffee makes me deliriously happy!

I can have one any time and always sleep like the dead.

Now, just to be clear, I would happily eat a sandwich out of a skip and grub dropped on the floor is, I think, perfectly okay to eat after a quick blow or sleeve wipe – I aint fussy! That’s what the three second rule is for right? My supper of choice is beans on toast and white plastic sliced bread gets my vote for my favoured sandwich – Quavers and Salad Cream – nice.

As you can see, my tastes are without doubt more Aldi that Fortnum’s, my palate more greasy spoon that Soho Farmhouse – so why oh why am I such a coffee snob?

Yet I am.

I hate it when I arrive at someone’s office, someone’s house, and they casually ask if I’d like a coffee… I have to bite my lip, remind myself that I am a guest because what I want to do is grill them on

·       What kind of coffee?

·       How are you making it?

·       Is it strong?

·       Are you aware how easy it is to burn the bean?

·       Are you good at making coffee?

·       Do you serve it in a mug or cup?

·       Do you drink a lot of coffee?

Instead, I smile, accept their kind offer, and nod politely with my fingers crossed behind my back, praying that they’re not going to present me with a cup of scalding, bland, weak, instant nasty that I would rather hurl down the loo than put anywhere near my mouth!

My husband tells me that having coffee outside of the house is for him very challenging when I am in tow. Going out for coffee is apparently not fun for him. First, I take an age before ordering, ogling the menu to make sure I choose wisely, I then watch the barista like a hawk, checking they don’t miss out any vital steps, before taking the said coffee into my hands. I then sniff it, study it, swirl it in the way one might a fine vintage, before eventually tasting a very small amount. Nine times out of ten I hand it to him and say, “I can’t drink that!” and he walks out with two coffees. The one he has ordered, and the one I have rejected. Trust me, the only person who finds the whole experience more galling than him, is me!

I think the solution might be to order tea – who am I kidding? Aint never gonna happen…