My blogging has sucked recently. Actually my lack of blogging has sucked recently. Blame university and me putting in an effort for once, that is, starting and finishing my essays 4 hours before the deadline opposed to my usual 4 minutes. I’ve been setting records.

Currently I hold a 50% rate of blogging ‘GREAT BRITAIN’ on a Sunday- the initial plan. I don’t work for Bloomberg so that’s probably a made up stat but either way it’s terrible. I suck at plans as you will learn. But here we are, Monday, it sounds like Sunday.

Numero 4. Cafes.

I love cafes, I love the cafe in my town the most. When I make the long trek from Wales to the South I cry for the lattes and scone with jam and cream that has become a weekend ritual. I book my trains home to get me back in time for a Saturday lunch of Welsh Rarebit or homemade soup- I lie, I’m not that sad (just a coincidence).

And the hot spiced apple…oh my days!


This place deals with the nation’s obsession with cakes, pastries and sugar mice. It’s whole-hearted, rustic, tasty and homemade. Perfection on a large plate.

In the snowy months our family trooped up the slippery town hill to spend quality time together instagramming our food. Sometimes you’ll sit at your table and find yourself later joined by others as though you were at a fancy coffee morning.  I even went on a kind of-not a date there…it was cute, very cute. This cafe is the personification of all great British cafes.


OK so cafes are pretty European in general but the beautiful thing about this little cafe is that it’s so….Welshy, Britishy, cottagey, cosey. Not an artsy gallery cafe that sells organic stuff for a fuck off price. This is a real cafe. One you can sit in and gossip about the rest of the town only to realise the rest of the town is sitting in there with you. And one day I will work there baking the cakes and serving hot chocolates- I’ve got high aspirations you see.

Now this is where I tell you that after all that banging on about this wonderful food hub I’m not going to reveal it’s true identity. Not because I’m afraid someone will carry out an MI5 operation to hunt me down (to be fair I need the excitement). No, this cafe is all mine. Find your own and share some hipster shots of your drinks.


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