Coffee, Tea or me?

Another weekend up North with the boys, this time with a promise of culture courtesy the BBC Proms. A cancelled train, 30 minute delay and lost water bottle is more than compensated by the sight of one of my favourite men heading towards me. The heaving skip has less of an impact than the bright blue of the portaloo… definitely a construction site! A quick tour of Chez M. les Docteurs reveals that my timing is impeccable. The kitchen might not be operational yet, but even sans flooring, it’s swoon worthy, and that’s before Jan has me open the sneakily sliding oven door! I feel like I’m on the bridge of the Enterprise, and bombard him with questions about the inbuilt coffee machine and applaud the plate warmer under the microwave, and stroke the sushi bar. This is just so cool. The house now looks like it belongs with the chalet and I can’t wait to come back in a years time to lay claim to the Med room with it’s bright orangey yellow warmth. Delicious. Dr. V. joins us, looking as tasty as the new décor all suited and tied and I try my level best to contain my amusement at the apologetic look that accompanies the announcement of dinner that is Sainsbury’s best microwaveable takeaway.

Stardate 21.8 and I’m given the helm after a quick briefing. The coffee machine is plugged in and our early rising captain has already imbibed three cups. I’m loath to ask for tea, and throw caution to the winds. A cappuccino to start the day. Uh oh. Milk. New equipment needs to be installed, and the stainless steel canister is brought into play.. The touch of a concealed button, and the machine smoothly pulls away from the wall, revealing the stash of coffee beans and subtle storage for a coffee spoon and rubber tubing. Ta – Dah! Spontaneous applause follows, and I’m compelled to do an encore. The milk is now in place, with the tube hooked up to the nozzle. My fingers dance over the control panel, heady with power and I twist my way to a medium, regular cappuccino. Steely glances are exchanged, and I engage. A gentle jab, rumbling sounds that are a prelude to the spotlight hitting the cup zone as milk is heated, frothed and emptied into the mug followed by the grinding of the beans distilled into a shot of coffee. In my excitement (and theirs), we toast each other and my taste buds are assaulted by the bitterness of pure coffee. Ugh! Sugar! A couple of over heaped spoons turn authenticity into dessert, and I spend more time sniffing it than drinking it. Mercifully, the machine understands Continental measures, and a medium is rather petite. Still gloating from the triumph, we now head for the hob, discreetly invisible on the central island counter, the extractor foofah directly overhead the only give away. It’s like gazing upon the navigation system on board the Enterprise, the shiny surface reflecting our keenly avid faces. Hmmmm. Ignition fails, and a scrabble about the discreet placed mains yields little by way of instant gratification and we’re forced to abandon ship.

We console ourselves with checking out the rinse function on the miraculous Neff machine, grinning with glee as the clear water is sucked up through the tubing washing out the residual bits of milk. The simple pleasures of life soon turn to more S&M gratification as the poor tubing is whipped against rock hard thighs in a poor excuse to get rid of the last of the water before and unobtrusive touch opens her up to restore the tubing in its rightful place. Only now, we know what it’s really there for …. !!