Sunday Afternoon


After the baptisms, to the Fleece, to read The Hare with Amber Eyes. I read of Viennese cafés in the late 1800s.

Every young man has his own café, and each is subtly different… You could spend your whole day here, nursing a single cup of coffee under the high vaulted ceilings, writing, not-writing, reading the morning newspaper – Die Neue Freie Presse – while waiting for the afternoon edition… In a café you could adopt an attitude of melancholic separation.

In the Fleece, on a sunlit afternoon of very early autumn, I am nursing a Crabbie’s Original Ginger Beer – which is not the same as the original Green Ginger cordial my granny drank – and waiting for a wedding rehearsal. Around me people are tackling chocolate fudge cake, Yorkshire pudding, family conversations, the Sunday papers. Not one of them has adopted an attitude of melancholic separation.

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