Columnists / Secret Barista
The Secret Barista: ‘I miss Hilary and Alan’
The cafe fills with the usual roll call.
Businessman shouting into his phone. Creepy guy trying to make conversation about his sunglasses. (Hugo Boss if you are wondering. We weren’t.) Particularly picky toast requests.
Pretty quickly, the morning wears us down.
is needed now More than ever
But then, into the dreary midst, stroll Hilary and Alan.
Hilary and Alan are both in their late 80s. They immediately fill the place and us with warmth and spirit and brilliantly sassy conversation.
Hilary drinks her customary piccolo, Alan his flat white. They insist on sharing their honey toast with us. It’s delicious. We did well.
We spend a wonderful 45 minutes chatting and laughing, mainly laughing. Hilary straightens Alan’s wonky hat at one point, saying he is looking far too rakish. We think he looks great.
They tell us stories of their sons, one who is an actual, genuine, real life rocket scientist, check we are eating enough vegetables, make us sit down and take some rest.
When they eventually leave, it’s to go and get some grub for their lunch. Then they are going out for wine later.
Hilary is a cancer survivor and she makes the very most of each and everyone of her days, Alan always faithfully by her side.
Only moments after they depart, a solitary laptop user fills their space. They order a green tea, ask us if we have any sugar, then proceed to use three of our sockets to charge a various assortment of unnecessary tech.
Three hours later, I have to ask them to leave so I can finish the close. The cafe closed 20 minutes prior.
They look offended and brusquely ask me for a receipt before stomping out.
I miss Hilary and Alan.
The Secret Barista works in a Bristol city centre cafe
Main photo: Martin Booth
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