I immediately understood that the joy of the The River Exe Cafe is the dining experience itself. It’s immersive – although hopefully you’re not immersed – put simply, you don’t ‘go’ to The River Exe Cafe, you’do’ it.
“Imagine the scene: the sun is shining and the birds are singing. You’re on your bike, riding at that perfect pace: not too slow so you’re burning carbs, not too fast so you take in the vista around you. Your freshly-shaved legs are looking good in perfectly fitting shorts and your tan lines are maturing nicely – in fact, it would be easy to be mistake you for a pro. You chat with fellow riders who are great company, while other road users happily, safely and respectfully keep their distance. The only thing on your mind is what type of coffee to order when you arrive at the friendly little café that lies just beyond the crest of the next rewardingly challenging incline. Too good to be true? Not necessarily.”
I’m well aware that coffee is no real substitute for genuine sleep. But when a decent stretch of sleep isn’t on offer, due to my baby son teething / having a cold / being hungry / doing a secret experiment on how long sleep-deprived parents can last before losing the plot, coffee is a great plan B.
I’ve started to sound like my dad, I even cough like him. Some say you spend the first decades of your life worrying you’ll turn into you father, and the the next decades worrying you won’t…
I don’t know about you, but I’m still finding ‘Zoom’ calls tricky…
It’s all a bit full-on at the minute, isn’t it?If there’s anything I’ve learned in life, it’s this: a bit of laugh always makes everything seem better.Here’s a piece that I wrote for WesternMorningNews. It’s a sorry tale of green tights and bodypaint. Have a read of (and a chuckle at) my own personal fancy dress nightmare. “I’veContinue reading “Western Morning News: Fancy That!”
‘Write about what you know.’
It’s one of those truisms that is so widely disseminated nobody ever stops to think if it’s actually good advice. Personally, as a concept, I’m not sold…
“After a brief journey of well-rehearsed small talk, we came to a halt. Stepping from the coach onto an ocean of gleaming gravel, I surveyed what was to be our overnight dwelling: The Beach House. Such a pleasing, quintessentially English façade: the type of place where Miss Marple would have lived, if she’d won the lottery.
It had been a short journey, but it seemed we’d traveled back in time to an age of opulence. It pleased me greatly. The paintwork on the quirky windows and doors was as fresh as the sea air. A well-oiled, front door swung open and our gregarious host swept onto the driveway.
“You’re here, you’re here. So glad you could make it.”
As I took in The Beach House, beautifully finished in the Arts and Crafts style, I had to conclude that so was I.”
I find Steph Bridge holding court. She’s in her element talking to customers and friends, it’s easy to see how the former quickly join the ranks of the latter. As she talks, Steph constantly does three things at once -answering phones, monitoring emails and organising appointments. Within minutes I can see that Steph, who spends half her time propelled by a kite, is the closest thing to a real life superhero I’ve met.
It seems to me that the candidates on The Apprentice are getting worse. I mean if the express intention of the show was to bring together a collection of vapid egomaniacs with all the business acumen of a mouldy Tupperware set, then I’d understand.