“Excuse me”, I say to the waiter walking past. “Is this Matcha latte made with cows milk?” “It is” he replies, “but that’s cool, we can make one of fresh for you, are you staying in? Sit down. Relax. Take a load off. Do you want soy, almond or oat milk?” “Almond milk please. You know,” i sigh, “I love milk, it just doesn’t love me.” He considers things for a moment “I’m with you there”, he replies looking thoughtful “I stopped drinking dairy a while back, it’s made such a difference to  my digestion. I fart less for one. That’s not a bad thing”. I can’t help but agree. 

I order some banana bread. He walks off to put in the order. The breakfast for the table next to me arrives. It looks delicious. Savoury pancakes with poached eggs caramelized onions and avocado. I think. I can’t really see. I’m not wearing my glasses and think that craning my neck over their table to check out their plates might be a little… odd. I’m struggling a little with food envy, but then I remind myself to relax. I have time. The cafe isn’t going anywhere. Incidentally, my banana bread and matcha latte have just arrived, and are exactly what the doctor ordered.

I’ve just moved house. I am now equidistant between the Saturday bustle of Broadway Market and the vibrant florals and hole in the wall cafes of Sunday’s Columbia Road. It feels good. A new adventure. An awakening. There are so many places to see, try and be inspired by. I need inspiration. The last few months I’ve felt a little… dreary.

I just might find my writing mojo here, in The Bach. Chewing down on some delicious toasty banana bread, washing it down with an almond matcha latte. I like this place. The vibe feels right. Just the right level of buzz and chill for a Sunday afternoon. 

Less methane too, now. Apparently.