I do try, and have been known to repeat an Italian phrase over
and over again, only to return ten minutes later and make a hash of it.
On the other hand I am good at remembering the city and
Chorlton before the cafe and bar society arrived.
Coffee was something that came either as a frothy explosion of milk with a hint of caffeine or a cup of tepid brown stuff.
Mind you back in London what went for coffee in our home was that mix of sugar, coffee essence water and chicory known as Camp Coffee. I tried some the other day and decided that like sugar sandwiches it was something best left to childhood memories.
And in much the same way I cannot get over nostalgic about
the Manchester of the late 60s. Ordering
a glass of wine on a hot afternoon in some of the pubs in the city marked you
out as strange, while the idea of wanting to eat outside was something you only
did with a mid day sandwich in Piccadilly Gardens.
We always felt very daring at the idea of drinking in the
Milk Maid opposite the sunken gardens or visiting the Ceylon Tea Centre.
And now both the Milk Maid and the tea centre have gone,
along with Piccadilly Gardens which is a shame.
On the other hand on a bright sunny day I can sit and watch the people
go by in Albert Square sipping a glass of wine with a fine view of the Town
Hall.
Picture; from the collection of Andrew Simpson
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