A matter of loaf and decaf

Worrying news so soon into the new year – my local bakery/coffee shop has closed.

Now what am I meant to do?

When I moved to Cumbria I left behind a lifetime of knowing where everything was. I’d successfully navigated over 35 years of living within a stone’s throw of where I grew up, so there was virtually nothing I didn’t know about my patch.

I could pretty much walk around the area with my eyes shut and still arrive at the exact spot in the pub I was aiming for. But they said I shouldn’t do that, as I was scaring people, so I stopped.

Arriving on a dark and rainy December evening to my new locale I suffered an unexpected, and altogether uncomfortable, feeling of not knowing a damn thing about it. Sure, we’d driven up to look at the house and liked the village, but that was months before and I struggle to remember what order to put clothes on in the morning at the best of times.

I sort of knew how to get to the nearest big town (but not how to navigate the one way system) and luckily living on the coast meant I couldn’t go too far in the wrong direction when leaving my house, otherwise I’d wind up apologising to the Coastguard for wasting their time. Assuming there was one. Which I didn’t know either.

I couldn’t even remember my phone number or postcode without having to resort to a crumpled bit of paper in my wallet.

Many things were new and strange. Only 4 TV channels: “Five? No, they don’t broadcast that here” said the Aerial Man. The water tasted funny. People spoke to me in the street. Sheep were watching me wherever I went.

Straight away we popped into the village bakery, with it’s selection of made-on-the-premises goodies, and a handful of tables and chairs. We enjoyed the views from the window. We chatted to the staff. We smiled and said hello the other customers.

We kept going back. They installed a cappuccino machine. We got to know everyone’s names, we made friends. We learnt not to sit at the table in the corner, as that ‘belongs’ to one specific elderly customer. We became friends with her too, to the point where we’ve met up separately.

We’ve exchanged cards and presents, know when birthdays are, gained and provided local knowledge and gossip, and consumed thousands of frothy coffees.

But now the owners are moving on and new faces will be taking on the running of my little oasis of hot beverages and warm feelings, after a refit.

It certainly wasn’t posh; just a lino floor and some old tables and chairs, but I’m going to miss everything and everybody it has been my pleasure to come to know, from our regular table in the middle.

They gave me a cake and coffee map when I was lost. Time to turn it over and see what’s on the other side...

This post first appeared as my "Thank grumpy it's Friday" column, in the North West Evening Mail, on the 9th of January 2015, where it was retitled "Oasis has offered more than coffee". You can view the version used by the paper on their website here

Once again, it's gone straight into their archive section uncredited, and had an minor, but slightly strange, edit, as the end of the sentence "...to the point where we've met up separately" has been removed. Go figure.

This was the first weekend without the Baker's being open. The windows have had that white stuff applied from the inside (Where do you get that special "We don't want you to see in whilst we fix the place up" paint from, anyway?). There's a nice note in the window saying it's under new management, and they hope to be open later in the month, and look forward to welcoming customers old (That's me!) and new.

Coffee cravings were assuaged by a meet-up in nearby Milnthorpe with the lovely elderly lady and her husband (who is occasionally allowed out to play), who normally occupied the table by the window in our usual haunt. We've formed a kind of caffeine-fuelled refugee camp for the time being, but there are compensations - you get little chocolates with the crunchy minty bits in with your cuppa at our temporary place.

(New Year, new CD's for Christmas! Currently enjoying the Ting Tings' 2008 album "We Started Nothing".)