The eternal pursuit

Do you ever find something trivial sticks in your memory for reasons you can't explain?

It's 1970, summer, raining, I'm standing in the taxi queue at Charing Cross Station in London. Where am I going? Be serious, it's 51 years ago! I can still hear the rain, though, on the canopy above. And the taxi motors. I'm reading the Times (surely not) where Bernard Levin has a weekly column. He's writing about coffee.

Levin's thesis is this. There is nothing in the world like the aroma of roasting coffee. There is nothing in the world that makes coffee taste anything like that. He lists all the machines he's tried with, and failed.

He's right, of course. I got shot of the old fashioned electric percolator in the 60s. I've done cafetières and made brown drink. I still have a filter machine for when we're mobbed. Brown drink. I can make perfect froffee coffee in a froffee coffee machine. Doesn't taste like roasting, though.

So here's the latest. Fabby mocha. Doesn't smell like roasting though.

In other news, I painted another room in the refurb house, and got the WiFi going. Another Campari Moment!