Welcome to the most orange shop in town, where I have come for coffee after a visit to the opticians. My cappacinno has a veritable hat of foam and chocolate sprinkles and was a free gift on account of my Jammatolological status. Usually it’s £1.90. I balance the sugar on this foam head before it gives way and plunges into its depths. I sit here and contemplate the optician’s glossy pamphlet of prices, but can’t read them due to my being a blind bastard.
There’s a surfboard on the ceiling and a map on the wall. I like maps. It’s all orange here, bright and bold, like a pumpkin’s exploded, and there’s some sky blue panelling on the counter. Local photos lined on the shelf are for sale, taken by Adam who I believe to be the owner, and whom is now on familiar terms with me, on account of my being here for, now, ten minutes. As I am also called Adam, we are bound by an unspoken force which connects all Adams of the world. This only happens for Adams; no other names. A radio bounces away with some reggae and Adam says farewell to some locals.
Many cafés round here are ‘town’ cafés. This is the only one I have visited thus far that appreciates being near the sea. It is indeed closer to the sea than most. Relish is also more bare than many other cafes that try, sometimes too hard, to be homey.
This month I quit work and Thatcher died. With these two events, some might say it’s been mighty jolly month. But if it weren’t for Thatcher and her neoliberal plan for the UK it is plausible that I might not be in such debt, I might be able to afford a mortgage; and the country might not be in such debt, society might value what my education offers and I might have to stay here because I have a great job! That’s the last thing I want! So thanks Thatch and your political offspring, for summarily ejecting me from this sinking country with its rampant financial capitalism, it’s huge private wealth stashed away for a slither of the population, and its generously egalitarian approach to democratising debt, of which I will take my share elsewhere.
To Taiwan, I will go, where the rent is cheap(er), the wages are (comparatively) good and the people are (in my experience) kind. Adam, a woman, and I talk about Taiwan. 29 miles from china, she says. My cappuccino has dwindled to a foamy glob on the mug’s floor, and I’m ready to tackle the stroll along the sea front.