After last week’s episode, in which Sancho, my faithful co-driver, has claimed that their character was somewhat maligned, questions have been raised in the House (our house) and on the Today Programme at breakfast (or it might have been just been today at breakfast). So in the great British tradition of a right to reply this week’s review has been handed over to Sancho. I shall confine myself to italics.
‘It is I, Sancho, breaking free of the unwanted observations of the PMiaV, driving through the fourth wall, (metaphorically, not in our van) to speak to you directly. Albeit whilst my own words are wilfully misinterpreted by that PMiaV. On with the episode. My episode.’
‘With an hour to kill whilst the work chariot was getting new tyres I wombled my way down the Pollokshaws Road in the grey AM, searching for coffee of quality quaffability and perhaps sustenance. Would I need to go all the way to Queen’s Park or Nithdale Road? No. In the lightly scuzzy part of Pollokshaws Road just south of MacDonalds and the Orange Lodge, handy if you fancy an orange, I found Crema. I skipped inside and….’
I now see that this Sancho-centric narrative will not do as Sancho sounds just like me, which they most certainly are not. It’s just because I’m writing it. So, off with the old First person and in with the new Third Person Limited.
During the interrogation, this is what Sancho told me about Crema;
‘It’s clean and fresh inside.’
What do you mean? Elaborate a bit.
‘There are some Design Master touches around the wood panelling of the counter but the interior is quite basic, not flashy. The benches are comfortable for my skinny buttocks-’
-Surely banquettes?
‘Don’t interrupt. I had very good service from a nice young man.’
I will attempt the humour.
‘My flat white was pretty good, not amazing. £4. They use their own Ethiopian blend. Which they sell.’
How much is it?
‘I don’t know. I didn’t think I was hungry and now regret not having the spicy scrambled eggs which a student couple ordered. Looked good. Crema is a nice place to spend an hour. I was reading that book you gave me.’
–
‘I had a very interesting thought while I was in Crema.’
Really. What?
‘Oh, that I should experiment in behaving in ways that I wouldn’t normally behave.’
Such as?
‘Well, I hadn’t really thought– ‘
That you might burst free of conventional fictional restraints, seize the narrative structure and write the first of your own series of café reviews?
‘Possibly…’
Usurping me.
(shrugs)
Did you get pictures of Crema for your blog then?
‘Er, I didn’t know that I would be ALLOWED to have my say.’
Oh for goodness sake. Well, I haven’t been anywhere and I need to publish this week so I’m going to have to use that picture of a scone.
‘What picture? …Ah. That picture’
Yes, the one that shows how much you think is the absolute minimum amount of butter be applied to a scone.
‘Enough that your teeth-marks show when you bite into it?’
Exactly. The Danes have a word for it: TANDSMØR.
‘Don’t go all Danish on me.’
You give me no choice.
‘But I don’t think they sell scones in Crema.’
Let’s try to remain objective-
‘-You’re the one who’s not being objective, they don’t sell scones in Crema-‘
(sighs) What would you say about Crema in summary? Would you go back?
‘Yes. Mmm…I wouldn’t detour to go there. There are a lot more choices just down the road. But I would go back if I was passing. To try those spicy eggs.’
Thank you Sancho. Now please hop back into the van, and the narrative, so we can return to some sort of normality next week.
Here is that scone again. That’s the minimum acceptable depth of butter.
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