an excuse for his unwelcoming behaviour

at nine on a Sunday, finally awake, attired for the day, for the outside climate. The son is ready to go out too. The cold is unpleasant, damp and so present as soon as the door is closed. There are bits of frozen snow and also ice here and there, the ground is dry enough otherwise.

The path under the archways is nearly deserted, there are few people under way today. The son stops and asks which café we should go to today, and since it is close, let us look into the café Neon. A café in Greek style. The door is open, and there is nobody inside. An Italian waiter comes around a corner, and declares that the café will only be opening at ten. He starts to give a long acount of all of the things that have not worked out properly today, by way of an excuse for his unwelcoming behaviour.

So leave.

Go to the strange place down at the town gate, in sight of the bus stop to the railway station. This café has been recently modernised, the door senses the approach of customers and opens, the sheet of glass sliding to one side with a whirr. Go in and the place is utilitarian bare, there are cakes and rolls in a glass display. Order a cup of coffee, the son orders some kind of cake, and a coke.

Pay by sliding a note into a slit on a machine, which dutifully gives the change. The woman serving explains that this is for hygienic reasons, that way she never has to touch the customers money. Sit down at a table by the window, look out over at the hotel beyond the gate on the opposite river bank.

There are still few people about, there are runners with their mobile phones attached to their upper arms, there are men on electric bicycles and people on perfectly normal bicycles. One man has a very large black case for a tuba on his back, he is wearing fine clothes. He must be cycling to a performance.

The modern sterile café is uncomfortably cold, the son is shivering.

When we have finished we get up to go. The son goes to the counter with his empty coke bottle to reclaim his deposit.

The automatic system breaks down, refuses to give the change. So the woman behind the counter has to find twenty five cents to return the deposit on the bottle.

A system breakdown on a Sunday morning