THE TIDE HAS TURNED. NEITHER PUSHING FORWARDS NOR PULLING BACK. PERHAPS WE WILL STAY HERE AWHILE AND STRETCH TO TOUCH THE GREY OUTSIDE THE WINDOW.

THERE IS AN OLD SUPERSTITION THAT IF THE LID OF A TEA POT IS LEFT OFF 'THERE'LL BE A STRANGER AT YOUR DOOR'. IT IS RAINING WHEN I REACH THE CAFE. I HAD INTENDED TO ARRIVE BEFORE THE SKY DARKENED BUT HAD BECOME DISTRACTED BY CONVERSATIONS WITH A CONVEYOR BELT OF RESIDENTS AND SHOPKEEPERS, KEEN TO SPEAK WITH ME ABOUT MY WORK. 

I DRINK FROM A WHITE CHINA MUG, THINKING OF THE BOOK 'THREE CUPS OF TEA' IN WHICH THE PAKISTANI VILLAGE CHIEF HAJI ALI IS QUOTED AS SAYING: 'HERE IN PAKISTAN AND AFGHANISTAN WE DRINK THREE CUPS OF TEA TO DO BUSINESS; THE FIRST YOU ARE A STRANGER, THE SECOND YOU BECOME A FRIEND, AND THE THIRD YOU JOIN OUR FAMILY'. THE REMAINDER OF THE BOOK IS MOSTLY ABOUT THE MOUNTAINEER GREG MORTENSEN'S MISSION TO BUILD SCHOOLS IN PAKISTAN, BUT IT IS THE TEA QUOTE THAT HAS STUCK.

- WHY P CAFE, I ASK 

- IT STANDS FOR PAINTING, POETRY AND PHILOSOPHY, BRENDAN REPLIES. WE'RE STILL ESTABLISHING EXACTLY WHAT IT IS. KEEPING OPEN TO SUGGESTION. 

MY EYES FALL ON A BOX OF CHILDREN'S WOODEN BRICKS, A CHESS SET, THE MISMATCHED LEATHER SOFAS AND DARK WOODEN CHAIRS. P FOR PEOPLE AND PLAY I THINK. LIKE THE INITIALS ON A LETTER, BOTH INTIMATE AND ANONYMOUS. 

- KIERAN MY BROTHER, AND I LOVE THE CONVERSATIONS WE HAVE WITH ARTISTS. PERHAPS AN IDENTITY WILL ESTABLISH ITSELF OUT OF THAT.

I WATCH AS THE TEA LEAVES SLOWLY SINK TO THE BOTTOM OF THE POT. PRUFROCK MEASURED OUT HIS TIME IN COFFEE SPOONS. TEA IS MORE MEDITATIVE AND I WONDER HOW MANY OTHERS HAVE WATCHED THE LEAVES UNFURL AS THEY WAIT FOR (WHAT I DO NOT KNOW).

- OUR POETRY EVENTS ARE ALREADY VERY POPULAR. PERHAPS IT WILL BE A PLACE WHERE A POET FEELS THEY CAN WRITE OR DO A READING. LAUNCH A BOOK. WE WANT PEOPLE TO COME AND TO STAY.

I NOTICE THAT MY POT NEEDS REFILLING. NEARBY TWO WOMEN LEAN FORWARDS, DEEP IN CONVERSATION. I WATCH THEM FOR A WHILE. HAVE THEY NOTICED THE SAME PATTERNS FORM IN THEIR TEA CUPS?

- THINGS CAN'T BE RUSHED. WE'RE STILL RELATIVELY NEW TO THE AREA AND LEARNING WHAT PEOPLE WANT.

A FEW MONTHS AGO I RECOMMENDED MORTENSEN'S STORY TO A FRIEND WHO I HAD RUN INTO UNEXPECTEDLY AFTER YEARS APART. AS IT HAPPENED HE HAD ALREADY READ THE BOOK, AROUND THE SAME TIME THAT I HAD FIRST DISCOVERED MY COPY IN A SMALL BOOKSHOP OUTSIDE OF NEW YORK. TWO WEEKS PASSED. WE WERE ON OUR THIRD CUP OF TEA. 

- IT WOULDN'T BE AN INTERESTING ART SPACE WITHOUT THE CAFE. IT WOULD BE AN EMPTY SHELL, SAYS JONNY THE CAFE'S CURATOR. EVERY DAY REAL PEOPLE COME IN AND ARE EXPOSED TO CONTEMPORARY ART. THE HIGH STREET IS LIKE A GRAVEYARD BUT PEOPLE CAN COME HERE. AND THEY DO COME HERE.

A FEW WEEKS AFTER OUR THIRD CUP HE LEFT. I HAVE NOT SEEN HIM SINCE.

I SUGGEST TO BRENDAN THAT STIRCHLEY FEELS IN LIMBO. MORE ON THE EDGE OF SOMETHING, HE SMILES. IN TRANSITION, WE AGREE. IT IS MY SECOND VISIT.

AS I WALK THROUGH THE RAIN I LOOK BACK TO WHERE MY REFLECTION WATCHES ME FROM THE CAFE'S WINDOW. 

WE'LL MEET AGAIN

I TURN AND WALK AWAY.

ROLL UP! ROLL UP! NOTHING NEW TO SEE HERE. SOME COLLECTORS BECOME FAMOUS FOR THEIR ACQUISITIONS, THEIR LEGACY A PIRATE'S HOARD OF PLUNDERED AGES. 

AT WHAT POINT DO LOST OBJECTS BECOME DESIRABLE AGAIN? THE FIGURE OF A WOMAN EMERGES AT THE DOORWAY OF THE CLUTTERED SHOP FRONT. SHE HAS THE LOOK OF SOMEONE PASSING BY AND, AS SHE SHAKES HER HEAD, SHE HALF TURNS BACK TO WHERE HER CHILDREN HOVER BEHIND A TOWER OF ABANDONED SUITCASES. NOT TODAY. HER BLANK EXPRESSION IS ALREADY MINDFUL OF THE RAIN BUT THEY MOVE NOISILY AND WITH SLOWER GESTURES. THEY ARE STILL LOOKING.

IN THE CARD GAME HAPPY FAMILIES THE AIM IS TO COLLECT AS MANY SETS OR 'FAMILIES' AS POSSIBLE. EACH CHARACTER IS NAMED AFTER THEIR VOCATION. MRS FIELD THE FARMER'S WIFE, MR SOLE THE FISHMONGER, MISS BUD THE FLORIST'S DAUGHTER. THE ROLL CALL IS A REMINDER OF A TIME WHEN WE STILL KNEW THE NAMES OF THINGS. WE LOOKED AND WE SAW THAT EACH THING COMES FROM SOMETHING ELSE.

LOAF BEGAN LIFE AS A COMMUNITY SUPPORTED BAKERY RUN FROM THE DIRECTOR'S OWN KITCHEN. SUCH A MODEL IS SIMPLE. THE COMMUNITY SUBSCRIBE TO THE BAKERY FOR A SET AMOUNT OF MONEY. THE BAKER HAS A SECURE INCOME AND THE CONSUMER A REGULAR SUPPLY OF FRESH BREAD. 

FLOUR, WATER, SALT, YEAST AND TIME. PERHAPS OUR ANCESTORS WERE MORE PATIENT. NOT SO QUICK TO DEMAND, QUICK TO ADD, QUICK TO WALK AWAY. TUESDAY THROUGH TO SATURDAY YOU WILL FIND 'REAL' BREAD AT LOAF. REAL MEANING NOTHING MORE THAN JUST ENOUGH OF LESS. 

IN THE OPEN KITCHENS I WATCH CROISSANTS BEING ROLLED, TWISTED AND BAKED– THEIR PALENESS SOON CRISPING TO HAZEL IN THE OVEN'S HEAT. LIGHT THROUGH THE FRONT WINDOWS FALLS ACROSS THOSE ALREADY LINING THE HEAVY WOODEN SHELVES. THEY WILL NOT REMAIN THERE FOR LONG, EACH DISAPPEARANCE A SYNONYM FOR THE NEXT.

A CONNECTING DOOR LEADS TO THE BAKERY'S COOKERY SCHOOL. TO THE RIGHT A PILE OF BOOKS UNTIDIES A SIDE TABLE. SOMEONE HAS LEFT THEIR SATCHEL SLUMPED AGAINST A CHAIR. 

- ARE YOU THE OWNER, I ASK

- WE ALL ARE, HE REPLIES, FEEL FREE TO WANDER AROUND

PERHAPS I WOULD HANG MY COAT, MAKE IMPRINTS IN MY PALM WITH THE CRUMBS FROM LUNCH. CAULIFLOWER, LENTILS, CARROTS AND SPICES. I ADD THEM UP TO MAKE A DAAL. EGGS, PEAS AND SPINACH- FRITTATA? EACH A MEAL SHARED. 

VOICES MIX WITH LAUGHTER AND DRIFT ACROSS THE CORRIDOR. THE SOUNDS KNOW THE SPACE WELL. CUMIN, BASIL, PEPPERCORNS. SOAP BUBBLES STILL SCUM THE SURFACE OF THIS MORNING'S WASHING UP. 

I LATER LEARN THAT TOM'S SURNAME IS BAKER. HIS PARTNER IS JANE BAKER, THE BAKER'S WIFE.

 THERE IS NO SECRET, THERE IS NOTHING TO HIDE.