The Coffee House.

The Coffee House is the same place as the Teashop, I just mischievously thought it suggested a whole new realm of characters and their stories. The truth is more like the reverse - as the same drives, attitudes and behaviours seem to appear with remorseless regularity in every human situation. There is, for example, the same awkward tension of cooperation and competition in social settings the world over....

Still, the froth on top maintains our interest in life, and I can recall a number of variations of this sort in the otherwise deep-seated repetitiveness of cafe culture. 

The man losing his trousers walking into a seaside spa, the guy covering the side of a pin table with exploding egg as he bit into his sandwich, and the old lady who always served coagulated milk in the bikers caf. The dog fights, the fire alarms, the hair and eyelashes and flies in numerous dishes, unflushed turds in toilets, abandoned drinks due to high tides and flooding. Weird people so common they're normal, slobbering greed and mincing pretensions. The wonders and capers of human survival.

In a true nutcase.

Today, it was par for the course. A loud American lady bellowed at her friend, then at her dog, and then at herself, while the friend ordered. Her holiday clearly revolved around a large diary of appointments, arrangements, bus and train timetables, visits, menus, and a host of other, even more complicated logistics. The sweat poured off her brow as she enjoyed herself.

An interesting pair of theatrical old ladies appeared, each playing a well rehearsed role in their discussion. One of them was stentorian and gesticulative, waving her arms around like an octopus on acid (at the same time looking urgently about the room for eye contact with any interested parties). The other lady was a meek stage whispering Mavis Riley, counterpointing her friend with anxious concerns and the occasional "bugger!"

"Those scones look awfully burnt" said she.

Loud enough for the staff to hear....