Some write diaries, some keep a journal. Me? I record the highs and lows of life through the coffees I drink, or in the case of anything from Starbucks, sniff at and put to one side.
It all started in 2010 when Noel was away in Switzerland training to be a ski instructor. Yep, that’s right, I sleep with a ski instructor, cool or what? As I was traipsing backwards and forwards via Geneva (and becoming such an expert on the airport that it will be my specialist subject in Mastemind) there was one constant. Coffee. I drink it everywhere I go and usually have something to say about its quality and taste.
Seriously, if the house went up in flames, there would be two major rescues. The first would be the cross-stitch it took me two years to complete and the second would be our Rancilio Silva espresso machine. We love that machine, we even order our coffee from Drury Lane in that there London where they grind it to the exact calibration for our machine. We make the best coffee in Leeds and therefore the best in the world.
So everywhere I go, I photograph my coffee as a kind of caffeinated aide memoire. When I’m working, which isn’t as often as I’d like, I take my trusty mug with me and dare the baristas to fill it with something drinkable. The only condition is that no instant coffee touches my lips. Not ever.
My coffees this year have been on the ski slopes, trails, fells and (somewhat grudgingly) roads I have run, meals with friends, coffees alone. They have marked major purchases, which have a theme of sports-related activity reflecting my increasing reluctance to grow old with any kind of grace. And they have marked major events such as our fantastic experience as tourmakers for Le Grand Depart of the Tour de France in Yorkshire.
One heck of a year, an awful lot of coffee. I’ve no idea what 2015 has in store, but whatever happens, there will be a coffee tale to tell with it. Happy new year, everyone.