This is at the top of Henley Street, next to the Magic Shop. Small, but indeed perfectly formed. My latte was a brand called Monmouth - fresh ground beans elegantly served in cup and saucer. Tastes like phone sex with Alan Rickman. Rich and dark with a caramel aftertaste.
The bacon roll was just right for this gluttonous gourmet. If I was writing for a tabloid newspaper I'd call it a 'thick rasher salty smasher'. Molten filling sizzling on my tongue, cool bread sticking to my lips. Love the illicit thrill of licking my crumby mouth and running my tongue along fat-gleaned teeth.
The open front of the shop makes access easy although the interior is claustrophobic. Sit outdoors if you possibly can. The layout and position of the furnishings make it one of the best people-watching spots in town. All the activity makes it a good spot for the writer in you. Especially if you're feeling - as I was at this point - slightly brooding and melancholy. I started drafting the first chapter of the Great British Novel; but somehow my pen dragged itself into an angsty meditation on lost love.