If your van is travelling north along the A82 parallel to the monumental, causal beauty of Loch Linnhe and the walls of Ardnamurchan you must reach Fort William. Don’t stop.
My previous involuntary reaction was sensibly based on Fort William’s appearance: A town with its bare arse to the view. Then there was the nocturnal behaviour of some of its inhabitants: actively looking for a face to punch. Ten years ago I went hillwalking on the Nevis Range with my father. We were in more danger on the main street that evening than on the descent. We had to hide in the curry house. Last year I was in Fort William mountain biking. When in town that night I had to cower in the new and excellent cinema bar and stay to see a film to avoid certain locals as they roamed their pedestrianised hunting ground, circling.
Daylight is a safer time for would-be prey. Park your van for free in Morrisons and walk (quickly, with confidence but alert) up the main drag to The Wildcat: ‘That Vegan Place’, it proclaims on the window. You won’t get your face punched in here.
Inside it’s long and rectangular, a high ceiling with old, heavy pews and communal tables. The duct lighting, dark green paint and unforgiving varnished plywood café furniture are all standard for the kind of place your bourgeoisie correspondent always seem to be drinking coffee in. But the real wood floor and panelling make the space welcoming. The Wildcat have attempted to get a classy, old-fashioned café feel and it works.
Action toddlers with action parents in down jackets are getting their no cow babyccinos/ cappuccinos. A young guy sits down on the long table next to Sancho and me. Outside, his haircut would get him twatted. Inside this oasis, the staff all welcome him. He’s a member of staff too but he chooses to come back here on his day off for a large vegan breakfast and to read a book. You heard right. A paperback book. He savours his coffee. Not only does he not look at his phone, I don’t believe he has one.
A huge range of ordinary people come in for coffee; lots of the outdoorsy, go-for-it people from Fort William who make up the overwhelming Yin of the populus to the Yang of bams (as previously mentioned). Families, chatty pensioners, lunchtime trade. This slows down the guy on the coffee machine. I receive my coffee leisurely. It’s very good, a Dear Green blend, (the epitome of ethically thoughtful coffee roasters) and is in a pleasing cup and saucer. Sancho’s coffee is not here. Nor apparently being constructed… My accompanying fruit flapjack is excellent. It can go either way with vegan cakes, I rhapsodise aloud to Sancho, my long-suffering co-driver. Sometimes they are too sweet or have too much oil in them to assuage the missing butter but this is… Sancho’s coffee is still not here and she was about to SAY SOMETHING but then her (no need to ask because clearly it will be, must be) oat milk flat white arrives and is pronounced very good.
Prices are reasonable. Staff are nice local kids. One wants to stay inside The Wildcat and pass the time. Not only because one don’t want to go back out on the High Street. The Wildcat sells their own coffee, and a shelf load of ethically-sound bits. The savoury food looked good but having already had a large vegetarian breakfast al vano neither of us could do justice to a large vegan one an hour later.
Post-prandially this moment of unusual insight popped out of the old brainbox: cafes aren’t vegan or non-vegan, they’re just good or bad. Or middling. Like some people. The Wildcat (That Vegan Place) is really good.
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