Il Molino

In order to move my darling cat Mao to my country abode, and place him in the care of my parents and brother Eugene whilst being away in London, I needed to borrow a cat-carrier.

So I went and saw my dear pal Bridget, who is the proud owner of Mao's half (or so we suspect) brother, Pumpkin, because I knew she had a carrier that Mao would fit comfortably into.

When I arrived at Bridget's, both she and her youngest sister were there, and we were talking about my move abroad. Helena talked with enthusiasm and excitement when I told her about my planned trip, telling me how much I'd love it, and how I would find a little cafe somewhere, that only I knew about, in which to dream and ponder, and watch the world go by... and I had forgotten about her saying that until I stumbled upon Il Molino.

I wandered past Il Molino about a week ago, and thought that it looked like a real-deal cafe, not one of the many rubbish chain stores that are far too common in this city; a lot like the one that Claire and Chris and I ate at on a Saturday morning on Miller Street, Northcote, after a late night at the Retreat.

On Saturday morning, I wandered down there to check it out, and found coffee and breakfast, a selection of London newspapers, little cactus plants on the window sills, some sweet, cruisey tunes and some time alone, and it was then that Helena's prophetic words came rushing back to me.

I have found a little cafe. Just for me in Battersea.