Trout at the Cafe
Yet more evidence today of my grumpy-old-man syndrome on its relentless march. Berko is well endowed with independent coffee shops (just about holding back the tide of identikit Starbucks and CafĂ© Neros, despite a sprawling Costa across two sites) some of which I assume pay UK tax. I had a cappuccino-sized gap in my morning and intended to fill it with a stroll down to Bel Caffe to mope over losing bets (of which more in another post) and write a gig review. I got as far as pushing the door a fraction when I noticed through the glass that the room was swarming with pre-schoolers and their well-heeled mums. I immediately released the handle and turned on my own trainer-shod heel. But not before my involuntary grimace and deep frowning was met by one of the mothers and returned with interest. I fled, frozen-blooded, and found respite amongst the crumby tables of the baker’s. Settling down to write the review, I noticed the establishment now offered two varieties o