Cafes

I’m pleased to discover that one of our familiar cafes in Kirkcudbright has re-opened. I think it closed last year and the business was up for sale. It’s under new ownership with a new name and I look forward to visiting on our next time there. We know all the cafes in Kirkcudbright and Castle Douglas, some better than others. We have lunch out most days when we are there, or coffee and cake. Less often at home, but it’s nice when we do venture out.

On my birthday, a few years ago, we were having lunch in the Ashton Pavilion café in St. Anne’s. Someone began to play the grand piano, very accomplished and lovely to listen to as one tune seamlessly flowed into another. ‘Nights in White Satin’, perfectly played, filled me with emotion and reminded me of the time years earlier, when having lunch at the Waldorf Astoria in New York, a small group of us were entertained by Michel Legrand running through his playlist in preparation for the evening. He didn’t play ‘Nights’, but the feeling was the same. Amazing talent.

There’s a fabulous café at the Lowry in Salford. The gallery and theatre, not the hotel, though it might have one. My husband and I had lunch there after a pilgrimage to the paintings, where I can gaze at Lowry’s work and cry and sigh as I love them so much. It was a special day. We spent the afternoon in Weatherfield on a Coronation Street tour, where I cried and sighed again because I love it so much. I would have liked afternoon tea at Roy’s Rolls, but sadly, the door was locked and even more sad, it wasn’t real, just a street frontage. It would be fabulous to be an extra in Roy’s café. I would sit quietly reading, fully absorbed in the book, newspaper or whatever, ignoring everything and everyone around me. Maybe someone will let me.

Edward Hopper’s painting, ‘Nighthawks’ appeals to me. The subject is an American diner late at night, not quite a café, but something about it intrigues me enough to want to be there. The characters look glum, even stern, like there’s something awkward going on. Ok, I’m nosey.

Park’s Art Deco Café at Stanley Park is open after the winter break and we have just about completed our Rushton & Co. style painting and decorating at home. I think we’ve earned a lunch out.

My Haiku poem,

When in Kirkcudbright
There’s a nice, new café
To add to our list.

Lunch in the Lowry,
Spellbound in the galleries,
We should go again.

I went to New York,
The Waldorf Astoria.
Lucky, little me!

I’ll sit silently
When I’m an extra
On Coronation Street.

Let’s go to the park.
We’ve finished decorating,
The café is open.

PMW 2026

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Achievement

 “If at first you don’t succeed, try and try again.”

That is one of my father’s sayings that he was fond of using. I don’t think I ever thought of him as a wise person, but, of course, he was, in his quiet way. He had an easy-going, generous nature, which caused him to be taken advantage of sometimes. Everyone was worth another chance. For the summer seasons, he employed extra staff in the pub and it always included the same barman. The man was reliable, helpful, knew his job, but he was soon ‘on the fiddle’ and it would only be a matter of time before Dad had to sack him, again. I don’t think he worked a full season, which was probably May Bank Holiday until the end of the Illuminations. My dad gave him the opportunity to earn a wage with the promise of the man’s honesty and set himself up to be let down, but he always gave the man that chance.

Writing was always my thing and Dad’s encouragement never faltered. It’s sad that he passed away before I could share my published work, tiny amount but still an achievement to be proud of, and he would have loved the Haunted House in the Illuminations which included my story and poem.

Three of our grandchildren are in Beavers and Cubs, one nearly ready for Scouts and currently rehearsing for the Gang Show. My job is sewing their achievement badges onto uniform jumpers. It makes me proud to see the rewards of their interests and hard work. They can be equally proud over something they didn’t think they could do. After years of doing this for our own Cub and Brownie, then Scout and Guide, it’s nice to do it again for the next generation.

Last Saturday, our 8 year old, footballer grandson, was chosen Player of the Match and awarded a trophy. A fine achievement. Watched by his enthusiastic grandad, the pair of them came back frozen and wet, one with muddy legs. My husband thought he’d finished with junior football at pitch side nearly thirty years ago.

I was having an in-depth chat with my dad, asking for an opinion or some advice. I would have been about twenty-five, certainly under thirty, with a few things on my mind and unsure what to do, nothing to do with my writing ambition.

“Life is what you make it.”

Another of his little gems. He was right, as always. There’s usually a journey to reach an achievement. I’m still travelling.

I found this poem,

Don’t Quit

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,
When the road you’re trudging seems all uphill,
When the fund are low but the debts are high,
And you want to smile but you have to sigh,
When care is pressing you down a bit,
Rest if you must, but don’t you quit.

Life is strange with its twists and turns,
As everyone of us sometimes learns,
And many failures turn about
When we might have won had we stuck it out.
Don’t give up though the pace seems slow –
You may succeed with another blow.

Success is failure turned inside out –
The silver tint of the clouds of doubt,
You can never tell how close you are,
It may be near when it seems so far;
So stick to the fight when you’re hardest hit –
It’s when things seem worst that you must not quit.

                                                            Edgar A. Guest 1881-1959

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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