Book of the Month: Before the Coffee Gets Cold

This is the second book by a Japanese author to feature as a book of the month this year. This time the author is Toshikazu Kawaguchi, a playwright who is also the author of a series of short novels about a Tokyo café where patrons can time travel.

Before the Coffee Gets Cold is the first book in the series, and also the most important instruction to the would-be time traveller. You get a magical cup of coffee and you have the length of time before it gets cold to drink it, or get trapped in the past.

There is no explanation given for why people can travel through time in the café. For me, the story is better for not trying to explain it. The mechanism is mysterious and magical and ultimately, it doesn't matter how people time travel as much as who travels and why. 

There are four stories in this book - a girlfriend wanting to see her boyfriend again, a wife wanting to see her husband before dementia took him away, a woman who wants to see her sister, and a mother wanting to see her daughter. They are all poignant. The wife's story packed the biggest emotional punch, but they were all a blend of hopeful melancholy.

My only criticism would be the occasional 'fact drops'. For example, the author references Pablo Picasso and then includes a potted history of Picasso's career and transitions between his artistic styles and periods. I don't think the story needed that, but this was written for a Japanese audience originally and I simply don't know how au fait that audience would be with Picasso or the concept of artists having different stylistic periods. (Being honest, the context was probably necessary for the majority of English readers too.)

I bought this book in TK Maxx on a bit of a whim, won over by the cover blurb. The overall design of the cover is very attractive too. However, while I enjoyed the concept and the stories of the different time travellers, I don't plan to seek out the rest of the series. 

Fun with street art

I'm having a week off between leaving my last job and starting my new one. On Tuesday, Cathy and I were in the city centre and we saw some cool street art. We tried to pose some photos with it, but couldn't get it to click.

So we went back on Wednesday and had a mess around. The patrons of the nearby nail bar watched on amused as I struck various poses.

I really like these photos and decided to use them to give my socials an overhaul. These are now on Facebook, Twitter and I've put one in the sidebar of this blog. 

A while back I wrote a poem called Angel Voice (you can read it here). The more I think about it, angels are no use if they stay in Heaven. Maybe they wear Ellesse sports jackets and dirty Converse. (Or maybe they don't.)

I want to give a massive thank you to Cathy for humoring me, and also for ordering me into position to get the shots just right. 

If you want to copy this, then go and find the Big Moose Coffee Co. The wings and halo are on the wall opposite. Big Moose serve an excellent cup of coffee as well and is an independent non-profit venture well worth supporting. I don't know who drew the wings. I offer my thanks to the unsung genius. 

Tracts and trickery

Recently I met up with my longstanding friend, Mark (Hi Mark!), for a coffee. We chatted at length and after we collected our second coffees of the evening, we decided to switch tables. The table we moved to had some literature left on it that looked like this.

At very first glance, I thought someone had left a leaflet along with a decent tip for a hardworking busboy. Then I realised it was something else - and I got a bit excited. This is the first time I have seen an example of a "Fake Bank Note" religious tract in the wild.

When it's taken out of the other leaflet it looks like this.

That's right it's a one million pound note from the 'Bank of Eternity', which bizarrely seems to be endorsed by Simon Cowell. I doubt he has agreed for his image rights to be used like this. The point of the tract is to warn you that large amounts of money or even being as famous as Simon Cowell won't save you on judgement day, so you need to get repenting or you will go to hell. (I'm paraphrasing here, but that's the gist.)

Mark was a bit surprised about how keen I was to look at this bumf. But I have an interest in religious marketing (because I seem to get sent religious post regularly). I've also never seen this in use in the UK. I remember reading several highly critical responses to similar Fake Bank Notes being used in America several years ago - for example, in this post from 2014 on Stuff Christians Like - but I didn't ever expect to see something so tacky in use over here. 

I suppose, like most terrible things that develop in American culture, it was almost inevitable that they would show up in the UK eventually. I can only imagine the disappointment of a staff member thinking for a fleeting second that they have been given a generous tip, only to find it's a hard sell for religion. I can't think of anything more offputting, really. 

I was slightly impressed by the designer's attention to detail. The serial number starts JN316, a reference to John 3.16 - but I can't figure out if the rest of the serial number is meant to mean something. [Edit: Carol W thinks it might be another Bible reference - IS551 meaning Isaiah 55.1] It's a bit of a hidden gag that I appreciated even if the target audience wouldn't get it. There is also a line saying it's not legal tender. It's almost as if the "Bank of Eternity" isn't a real bank after all.

The real meaning of Christmas #2

"And, verily, when Mary had given birth, she took hold the child and wrapped it in swaddling bands and layeth him in a manger. Then she turneth unto her husband and sayeth 'How about a cuppa, Joe?'" - The Gospel according to Starbucks, chapter 1.

(Also I like the way its 'Perfect for Gifting'. Not 'giving'. Gifting. When did we stop giving and start gifting?)

The art of caffeinated seduction

What would you do if, late at night, someone invited you in 'for a coffee' and then produced THIS?

Working class zero

Went to Starbucks this morning to meet someone. When I got back, Cathy asked me what I'd had.

"Grande Latte with an extra shot of expresso," I said. "Do I sound like a class traitor saying that?"

"Yes," she said encouragingly, "you do."

Class is a funny thing. My parents are very aware of their 'status'. They came from working class backgrounds and both went to university when it was the preserve of the well-off. I don't know whether they're consciously aware of it, but the way they talk about us being a 'doctor's family' shows a bit of insecurity about their status, which I'm sure is linked to being made to feel slightly inferior at university.

A comedy example, which has gone down in the annals of our family is when we were eating toegther once and mum said in all seriousness: "I'm not sure many doctor's families eat meals based around the humble sausage." The 'humble sausage' has entered our family vernacular now, if the conversation is veering towards being classist.

I guess I'm just lucky that for my generation the class system has slowly faded. True there is still a stigma attached to coming from certain places, and it's a tremendous advantage to have a good education, but generally there are more opportunities to advance on merit, rather than on who your father was.

But there is still a division between the working poor and the working wealthy. It's a different type of work for a start. I'm acutely aware, living where I do and mixing with the people I mix with, that my job is indoors and involves no heavy lifting. And we're relatively comfortable and secure, even in worrying economic times like this. But I have done my stint in Minimum Wage Hell and I can tell you that those who are stuck there aren't having it easy.

The thing is, with the exception of going to football matches before that became an acceptable thing in polite society, we were a very middle class family when I grew up. You can tell that by the expectations of my parents that me and my brother would both go to university, and in fact, that was what we both planned to do from very early on.

I can't deny my middle class upbringing, and nor would I want to. That's me and I can't help that. But I have always recognised my ancestral roots among the working class. My one grandad was a baker. My other was a miner, then a rail ganger. Both my grandmas worked in retail. I think there's a certain dignity in that - working hard to provide for your family; to see them take advantage of the opportunities offered to them as the universities opened up to the working class.

I guess my deep antagonism (hatred?) for Tony Blair stems from my deep-rooted conviction that in many respects he was a class traitor. True, he wasn't from a working-class background as far as I can tell, but those who supported him were. The unions, and the long-time Labour voters who stuck with his party when it was suicidally unelectable, have been ill-served by a Labour government.

True there have been more working class students than ever before, but their advantages have been cancelled out by apalling levels of student debt. And those families where a baker or a rail ganger are trying to put bread on the table and shoes on their children's feet, seem to be struggling to make ends meet, pay the rent or mortgage, and keep a car on the road. There is now a minimum wage, but we still have to have a tax credit system and benefits for working families, so obviously the minimum wage is below the minimum levels families need.

Blair might not have betrayed his own class (the middle class) to the same extent. But the people who looked to him as a saviour of the working man have discovered he wasn't a messiah after all. If Labour get horrifically trounced at the next election, and the odds are they will, then frankly the only people they will be able to blame are themselves. When you betray people's trust, you can't be surprised when they don't trust you any more.

Black Gold (film review)

Occasionally I'm asked why I'm involved with fair trade. Films like Black Gold remind me.

The contrast between the impoverished lives of the coffee growers and the fetishization of coffee in London or New York is thrown into sharp relief by the head of a coffee co-operative, Tadesse Meskela, who travels the world trying to sell his farmers' coffee. The film throws up a few other surprises as well. Did you know there's a world barista championship? Or that the area of Ethiopia Starbucks 'ethically' source their coffee from is on the brink of famine? Or that Ethiopia relies on American grain hand outs - from subsidized American farmers...?

The only problem with Black Gold as a film is the people who need to see it - the indolent, uncaring people who regularly irritate me in conversation - won't go and see it. If it's a bit tooo much to ask people to consider their fellow humans when they buy their coffee, then there's no way they'll go and see this.

But they should.

Jongudmund's rating: 9/10