I’m bring back my Guest Writer Spot for anyone who’d like to share their writing. If you’d like to be included in this slot, please get in touch: estherchilton@gmail.com. Poems can be up to 60 lines and prose 2000 words. If you’d like to add a short bio and photo, then great. All I ask is that there’s nothing offensive.
My first guest is Murray Clarke, who has made us chuckle recently with his funny newspaper stories. Today he’s sharing a lovely story:
The Café Lady
By
Murray Clarke
I pretend to peruse the menu. A young blonde girl appears from the corner of the kitchen – a cute white cap covering her blonde hair, and an apron with red love hearts tied around her waist.
“I am a Café Lady,” she announces, cheerfully.
“What is your name, Café Lady?” I ask.
“Cinderella,” she replies, smiling. What beautiful blue eyes she has!
“That’s a lovely name.”
“No! I am Lucy!” she says, suddenly changing her mind. “Would you like a drink? Tea or coffee?”
I scratch my head, thoughtfully.
Finally, I say, “Tea, please, Lucy.”
“Or we’ve got coffee with sugar?” she suggests. “Or black tea, mint tea? Or turkey tea?”
I grin. “Normal tea will be fine, Lucy. With milk, please. Thank you.”
“No problem. Wait there.”
I make a show of checking my watch. “Don’t be too long – I have a train to catch in half an hour!”
“Don’t worry,” she assures me. “I’ll be back.” And she gives me a little wave.
The waitress turns to go. “Do you want anything while you’re waiting? A bread roll and butter?” Where on earth had she heard that? This is a café – not a posh restaurant! I shake my head in amusement.
A minute later, Lucy returns with a tiny plastic blue cup and saucer.
I feign disappointment. “Haven’t you got a tea cup a little bit bigger?” I ask, politely. “A mug, perhaps?”
“We’ve not got mugs. Sorry.” And then, as if remembering where we are, she adds: “Would you like something to eat? Burgers, pizzas, chips with red sauce, hot dogs, broccoli, fish without heads, ice cream . . .?” She takes a deep breath before continuing . . . “Chicken with legs, carrots, yellow lemons, burnt toast, strawberries, spaghetti, beans with red sauce, cupcakes . . .?”
I interrupt Lucy in mid-sentence: “Wow! Spoilt for choice!” I laugh. “Err, I’d LOVE a pizza!”
“What kind do you like?”
“Err, have you got Pepperoni?” I challenge her. She looks puzzled.
“Quattro Stagioni, maybe?” She screws up her little nose.
“I don’t know what that is,” Lucy replies, bewildered.
Suddenly, as if seized with divine inspiration, I say, “Do you know what I’d really, really fancy, Lucy? A pizza with tomatoes and cheese!”
Her small face lights up.
“I’ve had one of them – it’s called a Margaret!”
“You mean a Margherita!” I suggest.
“Yes – a Margaret,” she confirms. “Would you like a hot dog – with a sausage?”
“Mustard and onions?” I reply, hopefully.
“We’ve not got onions. How’s about red sauce?”
I pull a long face. “Just a hot dog, please – with a sausage and mustard.”
“No problem. Wait there.” The waitress turns to go.
“Will you be long?” I ask again. “I don’t want to miss my train.”
“Don’t worry about it!” she smiles sweetly.
I slowly sip my tea, making outrageous slurping noises. Lucy laughs hysterically and goes to fetch my food.
Soon she returns, balancing a pizza and a hot dog on a yellow plastic plate.
“There you go!” she says with a smile.
“Oh, very yummy!” I say, licking my lips. “Thank you. You are a very nice Café Lady.”
“And you are a very old man!” Lucy giggles.
“WHAT!!!” I cry, in mock horror. “How can you say that? And you are a very cheeky young lady!” I tease, tickling her mercilessly in the ribs. She squeals in delight. “Remind me, Lucy, how old you are.”
“I am three and three-quarters,’ she announces proudly. “But my Mummy says I will be four next birthday.”
I scoop my adorable little granddaughter up into my arms and give her a great big hug.
“Gosh! Look at the time! Grandpa’s missed his train! Fancy sharing one of your deeelicious cupcakes with me? After that, we can get you into your witch’s costume – ready for tonight’s Halloween party.
“What do you say. . . Cafe Lady?”
***
Esther Chilton 
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