Ramblings from a Caffe Nero...

I love sitting in coffee shops, even if I am a tea drinker. Right now I'm sitting in a Caffé Nero at the north end of Waterloo Bridge in London. I arrived early (before 0900hrs) and, in a nutshell, I'm living the dream. My dream is just this, sitting in a coffee shop, alone, killing time with a decent book - I've now finished More Die of Heartbreak by Saul Bellow, it's taken me months. I have a laptop on which I am now writing these words and I have a copy of Dave Grohl's The Storyteller. I like Dave Grohl and now that I've finished Saul Bellow I can read his book, which is subtitled 'Tales of Life and Music'. Grohl has a certain level of respectability that I applaud; he is, perhaps, the respectable face of rock n roll with a wife and kids and parents who were both writers. Grohl was the drummer in Nirvana, and he plays guitar, and let's not forget the band he heads up, the Foo Fighters. I can't say I've ever really listened to the Foo Fighters (I only catch them occasionally on shows about Glastonbury). Grohl was on Graham Norton recently, plugging his book, so I guess he's now part of the 'celebrity' establishment. That, if anything, would be why I'm not so keen. Grohl isn't that 'rock n roll' if he's happy to appear on Graham Norton alongside the likes of comedian Greg Davies and other fairly 'normal' people from the world of 'day-to-day' entertainment, which somehow diminishes his 'Rock God' status. 

Perhaps the word I'm looking for is 'imposter'. I consider myself to be an imposter, somebody who should be driving a Waitrose delivery van or, at best, driving a train, and not engaged in the world of publishing where people generally are far, far more academically qualified than yours truly. And yet I do a reasonable job. Nobody has rumbled me yet at any rate. My cover hasn't been blown. John Lydon is not an imposter. He's the real deal. So are the Gallagher brothers of Oasis fame. And then there's that whole thing about wanting my rock stars to rock. Think of Keith Moon and other rock 'nutters' no longer around because they overdid things in the booze and drugs department, but at least they rocked. Overdoing things is no longer fashionable so in that sense, perhaps Grohl isn't an imposter; and who am I to call him one, I haven't even finished his book yet. Why does overloading on booze and drugs mean greater creativity and, indeed, greater 'rock' status? Isn't it a bit corny nowadays to ask for a JD and coke? "Oooh! Aren't you the wild one!" I think it was Pete Townshend who said that artificial stimulants don't really help matters in the creativity department, and he should know. And why frown on those who are a little more 'clean cut' or, perhaps, clued up? Perhaps it's because 'in my day' rock stars did 'rock', they did take drugs and produce amazing albums and the whole lot went hand-in-hand with long hair and torn jeans. 

Back in the day, I remember thinking, in my naivety, that Andre Agassi, the tennis player, was an imposter to his appearance because his long hair gave the impression (in those days) of a wayward individual, a wild man of rock – surely anybody with long hair must dabble in the habits of the sub culture – or so I thought. Agassi was a sportsman, and a pretty good one, he couldn't possibly be loading up with JD and cokes and smoking weed, his professional status wouldn't allow it. No! Agassi should have short hair, neatly trimmed, like Rod Laver or Ken Rosewall in their heyday. Ironically, Agassi lost his hair in later life, or perhaps he shaved it all off, I can't recall. I really did think that if you wore ripped jeans and had long hair then you should be paying your dues, doffing your cap, to the counter culture. I used to think, therefore, that Agassi should not only look more down-to-earth, but should listen to more grounded music, like Cliff Richard! Again, I must point out that I didn't know anything about Agassi's musical tastes... and still don't. I had no idea of what he might be listening to and was merely getting my wires crossed as I considered, unknowingly and long before the term was invented, a kind of misguided view of 'cultural appropriation'. But I'm using Agassi purely as an example of my own looney tunes take on life, I'm sure there were, and, indeed, are, plenty of other people who might have looked a little 'counter-cultural' but were as straight as a die in the same way that today certain celebrities (I won't mention any names) like to give the impression that they are gay. 

Rock stars gain respect. Some, like Sir Mick Jagger, Sir Paul McCartney and Sir Elton John, have been knighted, but that makes them imposters in the world or rock. Keith Richards, on the other hand, is still the real deal. The Beatles were 'establishment' virtually from the word go so Sir Paul and John Lennon were never really imposters. I remember my dad's Beatles singles when I was around five or six years old. How could I like any music that my dad enjoyed? But then dad liked The Boys are Back in Town by Thin Lizzy and Brown Sugar by the Rolling Stones so I suppose that argument flies out of the window. 

There were no drug casualties in the Fab Four. They had their heads screwed on from the get-go and I think that's what I hate most about rock star imposters: they have clear goals, they're relying on my misconceptions to make their fortunes and then, like when the diminutive figure of the Wizard of Oz is revealed, they disappoint. "You have a degree is astro-physics? Your dad was a diplomat? You're a qualified architect?" It might, of course, be jealousy on my part, but there is a strong feeling of having been conned, which I never felt with the Sex Pistols or Oasis. 

I'm not sure how long I've been sitting here at my little round table in my easy chair, double power point for my iPhone and laptop, but it's easily been over two hours and I've only had one mug of English Breakfast tea. I haven't been tempted by the sweet stuff, the Millionaire's Shortbread, the cookies, the cakes, nothing – apart from a couple of ginger biscuits (and I could have resisted them) – but whenever I get up to buy another mug of tea there's always a queue and I realize there's one big thing I despise about coffee shops: queues of people ordering unnecessarily complicated drinks. I'm a tea drinker, which is nice and straightforward, it's just hot water and a teabag. Not for me the complicated single-shot soya skinny latte or a cinnamon cappuccino with chocolate shaken over it. I can't stand waiting in a queue when, ahead of me, I hear somebody explaining their complicated beverage to the barista and then said barista starts playing with the controls of his or her Gaggia, connecting chromium group heads to the machine with annoying efficiency and doing what they have been trained to do. For me, it's simple, I order a tea, the barista places a teabag in the cup or mug and pours in hot water. Job done.

Whenever I find myself queuing for anything, particularly a train ticket, there's always somebody complicating matters. I know beforehand what I want, and when I reach the counter I say 'return to here or return to there', they give me my ticket and off I go; but other people confuse matters, create a big fuss, they get the person behind the counter to consult the Tibetan Book of the Dead. I watch them leafing through hefty tomes of figures and tables, and then getting up and walking to a back room, out of sight, before returning and checking the computer, and all the time I'm getting increasingly anxious that I'll miss my train; and then finally they issue the person with their ticket and it's my turn. I take all of five minutes, a quick and simple transaction. It's fine if you're behind me in a queue, but what if I'm behind you? I'm bound to suffer unnecessary stress, which will have a detrimental effect on my mental health.

I've just had a fairly large Indian meal at Masala Zone in nearby Covent Garden and now I'm back in the Caffe Nero at the north end of Waterloo bridge. The meal was fantastic: Mangalorean chicken curry, naan bread, Bombay aloo, the works. The last time I had a Mangalorean chicken curry was in Mysore in Southern India, in a Maharajah's palace, back in 1987. Anyway, I'm happily ensconced in the coffee shop for around an hour and then I'll be heading home on the train from Waterloo.

Somebody is occupying the seat I chose this morning so I'm now sitting in the corner, my back against a wall. I don't need to be near a power point because my Chromebook is fully charged. Most of the people here are students from nearby Kings College London I'd imagine. Some chat with friends, others type on their laptops, like me, except that what they're writing is probably a little more worthwhile than my hopeless ramblings. This really is a good Caffé Nero, but then again, all of them are fairly cosy in terms of interior design. There are high ceilings here, a huge leaded pane window at the back of the store, fairly comfortable seating, and music being piped in from somewhere. This morning it was chilled classical music, but right now it's more up-to-date, more lively, but still background sound, not overly intrusive, which is good.

Around 1600hrs I walked across the bridge to Waterloo station, jumped on a train, changed at Clapham Junction and headed home. What a fantastic day.