On Chinese Women and Creamless Coffee.

A new trend appears have started at the Costa Coffee shop in Ashbourne. Women who may be categorised as Chinese women who look as though they don’t belong in Ashbourne have begun to appear there in substantial numbers. (Well, two actually, but that’s a lot for Ashbourne.)

The first appeared around two weeks ago. She had long, wavy, henna-coloured hair and a Bohemian style of dress. This is most unusual for Ashbourne because the closest thing you’re ever likely to find there which might be described as Bohemian is the odd vinyl recording of something by Smetana or Dvorak in a charity shop. Ashbourne doesn’t do Bohemian; Ashbourne does waxed jackets, Hunter wellies and shooting sticks. Ashbourne is a true blue Tory town, and the woman in question looked like a walking representation of a rainbow. The fact that she spent a whole ten minutes in the toilet refreshing her make-up might or might not be significant. I chose to style her Ms Taiwan.

Today’s woman was completely different. She was even wearing blue. She was very smart, almost businesslike you might say, but in a way that was different than the way in which British business women look businesslike. It was a Chinese sort of way – smart black trousers, dark blue blouse, and wearing her long, silky black hair in a pony tail held tightly against her head with a matching blue band. I spent the whole time while drinking my double shot Americano (more of which later) trying not to reveal the fact that I was fixated on her. I so wanted to go over and say ‘Do excuse my presumption madam, but may I say how splendid you look and how splendidly Chinese to boot.’ Eventually I decided not to because she had the type of Chinese eyes which, lovely as they were in general terms, had a certain fierceness about them and I feared she might hurl one of those sharp twirly things at me like they do in the films. I chose instead to style her Ms Hong Kong and then consign her to my mental photo album for posterity.

*  *  *

Now, to change the subject…

I walked up to the counter and said to the first serving wench:

‘Medium Americano with cream, please.’

‘Medium Americano with cream,’ said the first serving wench to the second serving wench, who promptly disappeared into the back. She returned empty handed a few minutes later and said to the first serving wench:

‘They didn’t deliver the cream this morning.’

‘Oh my God!’ said the first serving wench, falling into a stunned silence. The second serving wench turned to me and said apologetically:

‘We haven’t got any cream.’

‘No cream?’ I intoned with a downcast air. ‘I suppose I’d better have milk then.’

‘Do you want full cream milk, semi-skimmed or skimmed?’

Now, I ask you. Would a man who is clearly lamenting the fact that he is being denied cream in his coffee really want to insult said beverage with skimmed milk instead? No, he wouldn’t. How fortunate, therefore, that there was a Chinese woman who looked like she didn’t belong in Ashbourne sitting a few feet away to distract me from my sense of destitution. I think it was probably a fair exchange.