I saw the kitty yesterday, the self-same kitty who had seemed to wait for me each morning near the 'Jesus Saves' sign across the way. We would step companionably together along the cobbles to the Norway Store, in search of yummies. But this time he (or she) was up on Fore Street just minding his (or her) business. No one else was out yet, so it was just me and Kitty-woo under the brilliant sun, renewing our old acquaintance.
"Ck-ck-ck-," I said, kindly.
"Mrow..," kitty replied, seeming to remember me and beginning instantly to follow. The Norway Store was bustling with customers, almost out the door. Most of these customers were fathers out with their small children, who noticed Kitty-woo and thought they should make friends with it (only kitty wasn't so sure). The presence of fathers at the Norway Store with their children may mean that the mums had said, "I'm not going," for fear of rain. So there the dads were, picking out things from a soggy list, looking slightly baffled.
"What is it you need, sir?" said the helpful lady behind the counter.
"Well, ah, it is a certain kind of oil, I believe.. perhaps it is an Olive?"
The coffee is as good as the conversation
"Ah yes, Olive Oil," said the woman, coming around the counter to help him. By this time the cat had gone, there being so many pairs of shoes to avoid, and I did not see it again. The elements battled against me as I retraced my steps, clutching the croissants and realizing that the forecaster's gloomy predictions had come true. It hardly seemed fair.
"It's raining!" I said as I came through the door with the croissants.
Three kindly faces acknowledged this undeniable fact, but refused to be disturbed by it. "There is always the Tate!" said friend Rosie. "A rainy day is the perfect day for the Tate. And it has a cafe!" This raised even the spirits of the SconeLady as we each layered up and grabbed umbrellas. Along the way, we became distracted by the presence of the Italian Coffee House, and went inside. Our coffees were great, but then we noticed something even more great. It was amazing.. spectacular.. sensational! There, beneath its glass case nestled the most delicious looking Chocolate Torte I had had the privilege of seeing. You could tell just by looking that IT WASN'T DRY. Moistness simply seemed to ooze out from it. We stared.
"Let's get it.." someone said. "But we've only just had breakfast," said someone else. "Ok. We'll come back after the Tate," said a third, "and get it then."
(How can this be fair?)This was agreed upon, and so we trooped back out into the rapidly deteriorating weather. By the time we got there, 'wet' wasn't half the word! But the three Brits were undaunted. What was a little rain, compared with the glories of the Tate Museum? So we perused, and wandered, and watched - the three women discussing it all in great detail - until poor Ted had finally had enough, and abandoned us for the comforts of The Sloop. Dear Readers, are you beginning to see a pattern here? Perhaps. But it's OK! We know how splendid is The Sloop. There is no place like it, and we don't mind if Ted sometimes prefers it to looking at art, or clothing, or pharmaceuticals. What man wouldn't?
We never did go back for that Torte, and now I'm feeling kind of lonely for it. But I think we will get some tomorrow, because there is nothing quite so comforting as coffee and chocolate on a day of 'weather' in Cornwall. 'Peckish' isn't half the word.
See you along the way!