The cactus on the tables, the chatter in Campanese dialect, the fresh nutty toasted smell of an espresso.
Living the Dolce Vita in a neighbourhood square in Campania…Except I was in West Norwood, or “West Nowhere”, as our West Dulwichians would joke. The cafe I walked into was spilling out onto the main road, and it was just after Christmas, walking under a grey sizzling downpour.
As I walked in, I found a spot by the coffee machine, ideally positioned at a vantage point to look around the cafe, like the theatre director at the edge of the stage.
The barista came over and said, “Flat white,” and I replied embarrassingly, “Decaf. “Of course,” he replied. He knew he was definitely not in his home town of Sardinia.
As I looked around the cafe, trying to see what was on the menu, an Irish man in his 40s walked in, sat down a few metres away from me, and sat opposite a man I couldn’t quite make out.
I was curious, a cafe owner, catching up with an older man. It didn’t seem like his dad or relative. It could have been his neighbour; maybe they hadmet at Dulwich Hamlet FC’s stadium, the local football club, or they were just regulars at the cafe that I hadn’t noticed before.
The elderly man looked up from his slumber and came to life. “It’s busy in here, isn’t it?” “Do you fancy sharing a soup? It’s a rebollita, I think.”
“How was Christmas?” the elderly man asked inquisitively. Andy, the Irish middle-aged man, talked about the trips he had to make with his children to see his parents and in-laws.
“I feel exhausted.”
“How was yours?”
Jim didn’t reply. The room seemed to fall silent even though it was very noisy.
“You’re the first person I’ve spoken to since I went to the food bank before Christmas”.
Suddenly, my public service mind switched on, and I thought:
- How is it that someone can be invisible and lonely in plain sight?
- What is it about the cafe that brings together locals to help each other out?
- What is it that the cafe owner can spot this person in a cafe that’s so busy?
