I love living in the country. Small towns mean personal service... If Annika's away, I have to get up at 6am to make breakfasts, packed lunches, do reading, finish off homework, listen to violin practice, take to school, drive to car-share: all the usual things parents of smallish children have to do. So by 9am I'm weary and, if finances allow, I indulge. I pull up near Dolcipani, a wonderful Italian bakery and cafe run by Sandra and her mother, who came over from Sicily many years ago (though Mama still refuses to speak much English and still dresses in black). I call them and they bring out a large cappuccino, sparkling water and warm chocolate croissant. Then I call Devizes News, who walk up with a Guardian. Turn the car heating up to max, put on some music, drink my coffee and read the paper. Pure bliss.
There is one downside to small town-ville though. A lack of anonymity. Maybe because I used to own a magical toyshop, maybe because I wear bright clothes, maybe because I'm a wheelchair user...but I'm known. I was speaking to a friend the other day who said "I know all about your coffee fix." "How?" "My hairdresser told me". Yes, I do park outside the hairdresser. But how do they a) know me b) know that Una is my friend? Still, if the trade-off for such indulgence is not being able to drink coffee in secret, well, I'm willing to be spotted.
