“On a first date, you’re singing a cover song of your own record,” Poetry Ed said, then took a moment to kiss the air to celebrate his words.
We were drinking our americanos and discussing dates and how we were going to use our creative writing masters – a discussion that left us feeling like three-legged dogs in a capitalist world.
This was all taking place in the usual spot; Society Café – a cafe that is now part of ‘home’. Home is made up of more than just your four walls: it’s your Amazon delivery man, the slow traffic light at the end of your road, and your local café.
This relationship with the cafe cannot be forced; sometimes, the most convenient one is not necessarily the you the most; perhaps it’s a little stiff or the mugs are too plain.
In Brisbane, I had one called Merlo. It was at the top of the road and had a pay-as-you-go dog bath next to it, which made excellent entertainment despite the smell of wet dogs. The coffee was also top-notch, as Australians, randomly, know their coffee well.
When I moved to Oxford, it was a task to find my next local, so I took my laptop around, tested the coffees, the seats, the acoustics, and after kissing a few frogs I finally committed myself to Society.
It was a horrifically obvious choice – like when a jock chooses a cheerleader. Society is rustic, with coffee bags for cushions; a backlit menu includes a tea called ‘Little Buddha’. Of course, there’s house plants. Mary, the millennial who writes blogs, was always going to end up here.
The baristas, a collection of stylish, quirk souls in linen aprons, have become familiar, friendly faces in my day. They have witnessed me in all sorts of states; there have been times when I have stormed in with my laptop and remained in their territory wide-eyed for hours, writing to a deadline. I must have looked awful because one of them checked on me with a mug of cold drip coffee at the end.
Then there are days like the one with Poetry Ed, where he talks in rhymes as we drink our americanos – and everything is good in the world.
THE QUACK 