Greed Cometh Before A Fall.

Bow Wow! pack member Tony Costa trips over front door step and goes sprawling a**e over t*t into a Conwy cafe.

One of the indulgences my wife Caroline and myself allow ourselves at the moment is a trip to L’s Cafe and Bookshop in Conwy for a coffee and a slice of gluten-free cake after walking the dogs on West Shore. The cafe, as its name suggests, doubles up as a bookshop, which is wonderful because as far as I’m concerned, you can stuff your raindrops on roses and warm wollen mittens – books and coffee are two of my all-time favourite things. L’s is run by two delightful young people – Lisa and Gaz -  and is a reminder of the frequent trips we once made to Amsterdam. And no, Lisa that’s not because it reminds us of the brothels  in the Red Light District, as you so humorously suggested but rather because it reminds us of the wonderful brown cafes in which we idled away so many happy hours. And yes, Lisa, with a review like this (delightful young people etc.)  I am angling for a free coffee!

Two events occurred at L’s Cafe last week that have remained fixed in my mind. The first concerns Caroline’s new haircut and the second, my accident.

One of the waitresses at L’s, Julia, made what I think is the obligatory comment that she ‘liked’ Caroline’s new hairdo. I mean what else is one woman going to say to another:’ I don’t like your hair’? Anyway, Caroline’s reply was the sarky ‘at least you noticed!’ at which point Julia immediately turned and, pointing an accusing finger in my direction, admonished me with the words ‘BAD BOY!’ which sounded remarkably like dog trainer Victoria Stilwell telling one of her dogs off for committing some misdemeanour. In my defence I have to say that I once had a friend who when asked by his wife the dreaded question ‘Well, what do you think about my hair?’ replied: ‘Very nice, I much prefer it to your old style’. ‘That’s interesting because I haven’t had anything done to it,’ my friend was told having been treated to a petrifying stare that was the equal anything Medusa could have optically conjured up. The coup de grace however was, as you might expect, the tearful ‘You don’t love me – you never did’.   It was a blatant case of entrapment, as indeed, in this particular case, was the marriage itself. As for being called ‘Bad Boy’ – well, at my age I deem being called anything with the word ‘boy’ in it extremely flattering.

In regards to my accident which, in all honesty occurred, not because I’m getting old and am losing control over my limbs and my sense of balance but rather out of sheer greed and the desire to stuff my face with coffee, biscuits and cake as quickly as possible - L’s Cafe and Bookshop is very popular but the pavement outside is very narrow and in my rush to get to an empty table before anyone else could claim it, having deftly and speedily dodged past an OAP who was walking so slowly in front of me that she looked as if she was doing a zimmer frame-assisted version of the late Michael Jackson’s Moonwalk – i.e. walking backwards when she looked as if she was moving forwards – I tripped over the front doorstep and went sprawling a**e over t*t into the cafe.  Instinctively grasping hold of the card rack in the entrance to the cafe I brought that down with me as my not inconsiderable bulk landed on the floor where it remained for some moments like that of a beached whale. And then the most amazing thing happened – or rather didn’t happen – nobody laughed. There wasn’t so much as a solitary titter. In fact the overwhelming reaction was that of concern for my welfare. There was even an appreciative chuckle when, having been eventually helped to my feet, I loudly exclaimed: ‘That’s what you call making an entrance!’ As for embarrassment, I genuinely didn’t feel any, realising as I did, that things could have been a helluva lot worse. (a) my kecks could have fallen down (b) I could quite easily have pulled someone else’s kecks down (male or female) had I grabbed hold of them in a desperate attempt to stay upright (c) had I veered sideways whilst I was falling then my thrashing arms could have showered everyone in the place with hot drinks, cakes and broken cutlery and (d) had I been knocked unconscious with my kecks having come down then my bare posterior would have served as a daunting sight for any customer wishing to enter the cafe/bookshop other than a short-sighted cyclist looking for somewhere to leave his or her bike.

Be thankful for small mercies, that’s what I say.

PS. Lisa and Gaz do have bikes for hire but they definitely do not provide parking racks.

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