When I got my first proper job in London, I’d treat myself to a coffee on the way to work. It became a ritual to look forward to: arrive at Oxford Circus 20 minutes earlier than I needed to, pop into the tiny cafe where the staff quickly learnt my name, knock back a £3 flat white, and head into the office.
There were so many reasons why I fell in love with that cafe – little flourishes that made it extra special. Like how it played jazz music or how staff served my coffee on a wooden platter with a small glass of water. The baristas would often dance around while making drinks, putting some pep in my step at the start of each day.
