TURNED-DOWN LUXURY FACTOR

Here’s a small thing I find annoys me out of proportion: when you get a tea or a coffee at Costa, say, then you sit down and accidentally knee the table leg, and spill the tea into the saucer.

That makes me triple-cross: one for spilling the tea, two for it being an embarrassing faux pas, and three because it hurts - like only a blow to the knee can.

It’s cold today. Cold and rainy. I’ve gone to Costa for lunch and as a rare treat, I’ve elected to sit inside. It’s not too noisy, thankfully - sometimes it’s cacophonous in here. It is chilly though.

I’m starting to think we’ve been duped. I’m sure these places used to be more comfortable; I mean sofas and jazz music, warm lighting and books, and board games on oak-beam shelves. Did they slowly turn down the luxury factor?

This one’s arctic. A quick look around shows most people in coats. Two middle aged women look quite serious, one with pen-in-hand. An older gent sits alone with a packet of crisps. The conversation level is on the cusp of loud but not quite unbearable - it’s closer to canteen-acoustics than it is to lounge room.

There’s no music either, unless you count the rushing steam from the barista machine behind the counter. The payment machine makes a periodic and all too loud bleep every time someone swipes their reward card. That’s the Costa soundtrack. Whoosh: bash, bash, bash. Beep!

“Sorry but she can’t turn around and say..”

“And it was seventeen pounds! Seventeen pounds!”

“I said I’m not doing that, no matter how much you pay me.”

So much for a treat then. But am I right? Were coffee places nicer twenty years ago when they were a newer idea in the UK? Do we still convince ourselves that this experience is something of a treat? For reference, a cup of tea here today costs £2.25 and they charge extra for oat milk. I’ve talked about this before, but it strikes me again as interesting what we’re prepared to pay someone to pour boiling water onto a tea bag.

Anyway. It’s time for me to pour the contents of my saucer back into my cup, rub my sore knee, and polish off the dregs of my tea-flavoured posh-water.

They really do see us all coming, don’t they?