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Coffee Roasting.


I’m drinking far too much coffee at the moment.

It’s a habit that’s only come into being over the past few months. I’m generally quite health-conscious: I’m a pescatarian that avoids milk and eats very little dairy produce (that’s right: I’m a barrel of laughs) – and at home I’ll generally opt for caffeine-free drinks such as redbush and camomile tea. I used to have one cup of coffee a day at most.

It's worth clarifying that I’m not completely clean-cut:  once a week I pop down to my local duck pond and punch a swan, just to redress the balance. Everyone’s got to have a vice.

This blog is part of the root of the problem: this is my fortieth consecutive post in so many days (dickhead) – and the vast majority of these have been written whilst sat in my favourite local coffee shop. If I’ve got nothing else on (diary-wise, not clothing), I’ll arrive mid-morning, and try to knock something up in a hour at most.

(Possibly not the best choice of wording.)

As a by-product, my caffeine intake has increased considerably. I do try and intersperse the mugs of coffee with the occasional herbal tea - but sometimes the lure of the black Americano proves too much to resist.

It’s also reached the point where the staff recognise a black coffee as my “usual”. Who am I to contradict them? I try my best to live up to my own self-enforced cliché.

I’m usually all right whilst in the relative safety of the coffee shop – but it’s during the walk home that my caffeine overdose becomes evident. Some days I’m as shaky as over-worked Judy Finnegan.

God knows what I’d be like if I discovered crack.

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