I can't quite get yesterday morning at the Rock Cafe out of my mind.
I was there about 8.15, between buses (it is right at the bus and ferry terminal) and had the unhealthiest breakfast I have had in a long time to fill the hour and a quarter till my next bus. At first I couldn't decide whether I liked it or not, but it was clean and cheerful. The man and woman working there greeted all the customers - quite a few people bought food to take away - by name.
'The usual?' they asked.
And 'How are you this morning?'
It is so entirely without pretension.
It could have been 1940, or 1960, or 2019
The menu may not have changed in all that time.
I loved it. I loved the Rock Cafe and the people in it and the railings and the shore and the lighthouse and the pier and the gulls and the early morning feeling of the town just starting its new day which would be just the same as yesterday and much the same as tomorrow probably and that would be fine and as it should be.
My stomach didn't love it and the bus journey to Colintraive along a winding and hilly single track road left me queasy!
That was fine too in it's way..
Was it nostalgia?
Or just that thing about liking what's real.