— Deus Absconditus
It is a chintzy kind of place but I force myself to go in there from time to time because the coffee is good and they put together an almost fat-free breakfast. They have a painted pelmet which circles the room half a metre below the ceiling, where they line up sparklingly clean old teapots. The round, glass-topped wicker tables have gingham skirts and somehow conspire to make us talk in whispers. When we were children, Mum encouraged us to support lone traders who had a smile or anything approaching a deferential attitude.
I could feel the difference as soon as I walked into the place, though it looked the same. The teapots were still up there, squeaky clean; the décor, a faint pink blush to everything, had not been tampered with. But there was something in the air. (more…)
Table of contents for From My Notebook
- A Writer’s Notebook I
- A Writer’s Notebook II
- A Writer’s Notebook III
- A Writer’s Notebook IV
- A Writer’s Notebook V
- A Writer’s Notebook VI
- A Writer’s Notebook VII
- A Writer’s Notebook VIII
- A Writer’s Notebook IX
- A Writer’s Notebook XI
- Gerd & Henri’s Goose
- Tourists and Chips
- Tourists and Chips II
- Butterflies
- Tears Trickle
- Waiting for Galatea
- The Waitress Calls Me Luvie
- Ambience
- Nineteen Forty One
- Deus Absconditus
- A Waste of Time
- Like a Stick
- Math and Mass
- Insensitivity
- Being Badgered by the Wild Child
- What Is Forgetting?
- Living with the Past
- Relationships
- Kronus In My Coffee
- Breakfast in the Market
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