One of my favourite pastimes is a long walk followed by coffee and cake at my favourite café.
After a leisurely five mile amble in the sun this morning, I drop into my usual haunt, to find yet another new assistant behind the counter (I call them ‘Karma Chameleons’; ‘they come and go, they come and go… a wo-hoh…’). This one is undoubtedly of Antipodean origins.
‘Gooday!’ she says with a beam as wide as a boomerang. ‘What kin ah gitchya?’.
‘Hi. Erm, a slice of lemon drizzle cake please, and a large cappuccino, semi-skimmed, extra hot’.
‘Now warries! Arl git rarht on it’.
So I wander over to my corner spot, and proceed to glance through ‘The Metro’. Over comes the cake (excellent as always) which I savour, and then proceed to take a sip of my coffee. There’s good news and bad news. The good news is that it’s very hot. The bad news is that it tastes, well, decidedly peculiar; a bitter tang, oily, and with a chalky texture. A second sip confirms it to possess definite sink cleaning potential, and back to the counter I go.
‘I’m afraid this coffee tastes unpleasant’, says I.
‘Arrh, ah’m sorree bert thet, Arl gitchya nather, now warries. Cappuccino, ixtra hot, soy milk, rahrt?’.
‘Arrh rahrt. Sorree thawca sid soy. Now warries’.
So a replacement duly arrives, which is indeed very good, and the source of the nastiness is explained. Which begs the question; who in their right mind actually drinks this soy shit, and why? Well here’s my take on it. If you like your coffee to taste as though a seagull’s just shat in it, you’re a soy boy and no mistake. Everybody else, avoid this cack like a dose of the clap. Gooday.
Nominated by Ron Knee