No Night Sweats N o  N i g h t  S w e a t s No Night Sweats
Sydney's Post-Punk Bands
I Like Music
Slapp Happy are Terrific
A List of CDs
Text is What I Write
Crime Fiction is Silly
[ 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 chest... 

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.
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