Cappucino with a cortado chaser.

As an 11 year old, I used to go to Ealing Broadway with my friend
and order cappucinos from an Italian restaurant called Francos.
We'd sit outside, legs swinging, loving the frothy strong rich nectar.
We must've looked really weird. Surrounded by vaguely posh
couples at the other tables.

Even now, I just can't get enough of great coffee.
Go to Artisan Roast. It is the best coffee in the world. It really is.
And every time I go there, I'm that 11 year old, swinging my legs
drinking lovely, lovely coffee.