|[ You Say Caffe, I
Say Coffee... ]
Annette is my 'girlfriend'.
Even though we've basically lived together for 20 years, I refuse to call
her 'my partner' which is something the government links inextricably to
small business. I also refuse to call her my 'life partner' which reeks
terribly of the ideas of people who don't like the term 'girlfriend' for
one reason or another. I likewise refuse to use the term 'de-facto' because,
let's face it, there are enough lawyers in the world already. Of course,
all of these terms could be used quite adequately to describe our relationship
to some extent or another. It's just that they're all so impersonal and
lacking in humanity, warmth and affection. Yep, she's my powerfull, lovely,
intelligent 'girlfriend' and she'll stay that way to me until we've both
reached some uncertain ripe old age where I'll, no doubt, dither about
uncontrollably trying to remember my own goddamned name with a pool of
drool on my chin.
Now that I've got that off my
My girlfriend Annette has just
been told to cut down on her intake of tea - just for a little while at
least. This request, in some ways, can be likened to asking a member of
the Corleone family to give up the controlling interest in their 'oil'
business... but she's managing to limit her ingestion quite substantially
under dire circumstances of both withdrawal and denial. The naturopath
said that she could drink plenty of 'Roasted Dandelion Root Herbal Beverage'
instead - and who in their right minds wouldn't jump at the chance! In
all honesty it tastes absolutely awful - but that's something that wouldn't
surprise anyone at all, I suppose.
In fact, it tastes fairly similar
to the first coffee we ever used to drink - the fabo 'Pablo' brand. It's
one undeniable quality was it's cheapness... and nothing else at all. It
came in very large tins with an enormous lid so that any stupid person
(or one whose intake of questionable substances had made them more than
stupid) could dip their spoon in and get more than they bargained for.
Once spooned, it would sit on the bottom of the coffee mug like the excess
scum from a nuclear reactor and look right back at you as if to say "hey
buddy, at least I'm not drinkin' it". The boiling water would splutter
and cry out in pain as it merged with this deep, brackish mud and, in nine
cases out of ten, would splat back painfully onto the hands of the waiting
caffeine fiend who would simply grin and bear it - they knew that this
was, by far, the easy bit. I can't seem to remember the experience of actually
drinking this by-product of super power germ warfare and maybe, just maybe,
that's for the best.
Of course, as our palettes improved
somewhat we moved onto less and less poisonous brands including the generic
'No Frills', the everyperson's drink of 'Nescafe Blend 43' and, the frenzied
freeze dried bliss of 'Moccona'. And now, we finally reached the stage
of ardent coffee snobbism : 'What! You haven't got Lavazza double-espresso
crema crushed by 15 noble virgins? Well, piss off then!'
But now, as age cripples our
insides, we seem to be reverting to a more golden age where the presence
of stuff in a jar that looks like aged topsoil doesn't faze us in the least.