The Oracle

Back in the early 2000’s or “Naughties” as we used to say, I was resident in ‘that London’ and enjoying a delicious period of not working. This will come as no surprise to those that know me. I’d quit my lucrative but dull job working for Philips electronics and moved to the capital; searching for a change. I found several changes and the period eventually extended to around 5 years. 

I had few possessions, most notable amongst those was my dark green Yamaha XJR1300 motorcycle. I’d recently spent a large sum of money and a lot of time changing it from the large powerful beast that it was, into a larger, more powerful beast. The engine was by this time, a 1450cc monster with a one off exhaust system and many custom parts. Consequently few people could get near me on the road and the bike was well known all over the country. I spent most of my time riding it to various bike events, or hanging out in cafes writing for bike magazines (which I did not consider work, it certainly didn’t pay much).

One day my half sister Vic contacted me, we had not been in touch for a while, she asked if I’d like to come see her at her home in Swindon. 

The next day I got on the bike and set off out of London, heading west along the M4 motorway. Whenever Vic was around, interesting things would occur. Events would come to pass that defied the normal rules of the universe. It’s safe to say that I was enjoying the journey and looking forward to seeing her. 

Somewhere along the road, just before the town of Reading I spied a sign. It simply stated “The Oracle”. The Matrix film had premiered only a few years earlier, in 1999, coincidentally the year my bike was born and the film was still very much part of popular culture. I was intrigued and never one to skip past an opportunity to experience something interesting; I pulled off at the next junction to go and find the mysterious Oracle and see what she had to say. (For those that do not get the reference, the Oracle was a character in the film)

Imagine my disappointment when The Oracle turned out to be nothing more than a large development of retail shops. 

I’d skipped breakfast in my excitement to get on the road to see Vic, so I decided that the best thing to do was to turn my disappointment into an enjoyable breakfast opportunity. As every biker knows, the best breakfast establishments in the UK exist on trading estates, there to serve the hungry legions of people who work in the small businesses on these industrial parks.
I located a trading estate right nearby The Oracle, and dreaming of bacon, sausages, tea and all those goodly delicacies; I pulled up outside a small cafe. Things were decidedly looking up.

I recall thinking that the cafe appeared somewhat smarter than your average greasy spoon establishment. Usually these places were pretty basic. But I didn’t question it as my hunger was now firmly in control. 

I doffed my helmet and gloves and opened the door to a cheery ringing from the old fashioned bell activated by the door opening mechanism. There were not too many tables, a small place, and none were occupied so I chose the best one, by the window looking outside.
Hanging my jacket over the seat, I sat down and looked for a menu. Often in these places, it is written on a large board over the serving counter, but I could not see the counter from where I sat and there was no menu on the table. So I waited to be served. 

The waitress took her time, but eventually came through from out the back of the shop. She came over and said “How can I help you?”

I said “I’ll have a mug of tea please and do you have a menu?”

I sensed an immediate change in her previously sunny disposition and with no further interest in what I had imagined was a perfectly reasonable request, she asked me to leave.

This was not at all what I was expecting and I became concerned that something I had done had caused this sudden offence. But, being hungry I simply replied “I’d just like to have breakfast, what seems to be the problem?”

Her anger ramped up several levels almost instantly at this. Her colour rose and her eyes flashed like a demon. “Just get out, right now” She screamed at me.

My day was taking a rather unexpected turn and the likelihood of an enjoyable breakfast seemed to be diminishing with every passing second. 

I applied my most appealing smile and tried again. “I’m so sorry, are you not serving breakfast this morning?”

That did not seem to help at all. She huffed and puffed and waggled her finger at me in quite the alarming manner, whilst shouting “I’ve just about had enough of this sort of thing, get out of my shop right now and don’t come back”.

I was mystified, the poor woman was absolutely distraught with rage. I decided that as discretion is the better part of valour, and also since hiding is the better part of discretion, I shot up and valiantly ran outside the cafe.

What on earth had just happened? I asked myself as I stood by my bike and lit a cigarette. None of it seemed to make any sense. I hadn’t been rude, or broken anything. I didn’t look like a vagrant, in fact I thought I looked rather good in my new leathers and vintage Hawkwind T-shirt. Even my boots were shiny. 

Breakfast now seemed very unlikely to happen anytime soon. I was bereft with bacon and short on sausages for the foreseeable future. Beans were not part of the picture any longer, either. 

I composed myself and tried to understand where and when things had taken this path to breakfast disaster. 

I peered cautiously through the window into the cafe. The waitress was still standing there, staring out at me with disgust in her eyes.
Slowly, like a cloth being pulled off a budgie cage by an elderly lady, realisation began to dawn. 

It had seemed odd that there was nobody else in the cafe. The number of tables was really quite low. Everything was extremely tidy, as if no other customers had been in all day. The chairs were really lovely. The table-cloths beautiful. The cutlery shone like diamonds and there was not a bottle of ketchup or HP sauce to be seen. 

I slowly lifted my vision to read the sign above the shop window. 

“Stella” and underneath: “Bespoke Furniture”

So, not a cafe then. The window was dressed like a fancy cafe. The small front room, set up to appear like one. There was no grill. No kitchen and she had not been the waitress that I had imagined her to be. 

An apology seemed to be in order. But I was reticent as she was clearly still rather cross. I decided to return, perhaps on my way home after a few days and deliver my apology at that later time. Which would hopefully avoid any further unpleasantness. 

I put my helmet and gloves back on, sat on the bike and started it up. Then feeling rather foolish, and cowardly, switched it off. Removed my helmet and gloves and marched right back into the fray. 

Before she had a chance to speak, as she was still standing there, unmoving but quietly seething, I explained my lack of observation skills and told her that I was sorry for upsetting her. But that it was perhaps understandable, had it not been for the somewhat obvious shop sign, which I had clearly missed.

She melted and smiled. Perhaps it was my Hawkwind T-shirt and not my garbled apologies, I don’t know… 

She told me that the cafe display had been set up a week ago and since that time, countless fools had been making fun of it by stomping in with their work boots all over her nice polished floor and demanding bacon and eggs as a joke.
I’d been the final straw. She’d snapped and she was sorry.

Then she introduced herself as Stella and asked me to sit down whilst she made us both a nice cup of tea.