And heaven was a breakfast…
A tiny Salford cafe on the corner of the busy road where we turned for the final leg to work. Half an mile away but a full hour to get there…
Within Paul’s Cafe was Paul; eclectic, gregarious. A man who had walked away from the edge of Salford’s gang culture and made great food, instead. A friend who would be friendly, but leave us in peace with our bacon butties, brown sauce and mugs of steaming tea… magically-refilled, without us asking.
Bacon butties, done ‘crispy’… And just the memory brings a fresh rush of goodness, now – and a sense of loss; even though that was a long time ago, and Paul’s Cafe is a memory buried beneath the white verticality of high-rise, modern docklands Salford.
Nearby, Media City glitters, now – and wonderful it and The Lowry Centre are… but I am lost in the simple pleasure of the memories and the taste of what was there, before….
It was a dirtier, grittier time, but, for us, there will never be another cafe like Paul’s.