The joy of meth

I need coffee. Bring me coffee. Be coffee. Coffee.

As a cyclist, ex-cyclist, reformed cyclist and potential future cyclist, I’m a big fan of coffee. I’ve been known to indulge. To over indulge. It’s the meth that makes me do it.

Methylxanthine alkaloid to be exact. Caffeine to you and me. The bitterness combined with the sweet milk is such a perfect drug. If you’ve had the right stuff then you can’t go back. Starbucks, Costa, instant? No way. Not even the same drink.

I spent some time in Australia earlier this year and the coffee scene in Sydney is awesome. It's ahead of the craft beer industry and more mainstream. Less beards. Less tattoos. You can now get a great coffee almost anywhere. Even at sea (there’s a bloke who comes round Sydney harbour in a boat with a full on proper espresso machine on board to make sure your flat white is just so). London is catching on. There are now some truly great coffee shops here - mainly, run by Aussies or Kiwis. The best import since Kylie?

One of the joys of Sydney is getting up and heading out to have breakfast at a local cafe. The weather helps of course. Sitting on a pavement in the sun with a flat white and an artisanal bircher/granola/muffin takes some beating. Huddling in the rain in London eating a soggy sandwich and Nescafe before getting on a sweaty tube isn’t quite the same.

I'm wondering how to combine my love of coffee and beer. Is there some freak love child of the two that hasn’t yet been done? A smooth oatmeal breakfast black lager, perhaps? There’s probably one out there somewhere.
We’ll see.