Café Culture

 

When I hear someone talk about Café Culture, images of pavement tables and Mediterranean sunshine always come to mind. Today, however, I have been able to demonstrate that even on a cold, damp, miserable November day, that lifestyle booms in North Yorkshire.

Of course, I wasn't so much on a journey of scientific exploration as a voyage of necessity. After all, I already know that my local High Street (unusually for a Northern town, some might unfairly presume) has a preponderance of highly regarded tea and coffee shops, definitely more numerous than say its offering of bakers' and charity shops.

Whilst the rain poured down this morning, I found myself in one such establishment, looking out through the window as foot and road traffic splashed its way through ever growing puddles. People-watching from indoors in those conditions always promotes a feeling of inner warmth, although it could of course have simply been engendered by the mug of berry tea I was clutching to warm my hands. I have to admit, I felt truly snug and at peace, as if the whole of retirement had been geared up to provide moments of harmonious cosiness.

I was sheltering albeit only temporarily from the elements whilst, in anticipation of heavy snowfalls (this autumn's profusion of red berries must mean something), new winter tyres were fitted to my car. I am determined not to be held hostage by the weather this year and, for once in my laid back retired life, am getting them put on the car in good time.

Safely back at home, not a sign of snow or frost in sight, I negotiated on foot the stiff breeze and rain showers to run a number of local errands. Fridays have developed into a big day in my little rural village, as the visiting Post Office comes to call. Of course, I would like to say that we inhabitants dress up in our finery and promenade as a result,  but this is Northern England  and, at present, wind resistant waterproofs are the order of the day.

Instead, the occasion is generally celebrated with our very own Pop Up Café; you go out intending to buy a postage stamp and emerge two hours later filled with cake (I resisted, honestly), tea and good natured gossip.

The Village Hall (an old 1920's wooden hut) was certainly heaving today. The windows streamed with condensation and, as well as the usual fare, there was a buoyant trade in Pudsey Bear biscuits for Children in Need. The important topics of the day were under discussion, not least the repair of the acrylic sheet on the board that houses the bus timetable. Books were being exchanged, funny stories told and there was an air of anticipation, not because I'd just pinned the list of Parliamentary candidates for our constituency to the Village Noticeboard, but rather in seeking to guess who would be the star turn in this year's forthcoming "Village has Talent" competition.

Forget pavement cafés, they'd never work where I live, but what I visited today was equally as warm and welcoming.