Coffee, My Friend.

I don't like January, although the month which is most likely to drive me to drink is December. But I could give up the demon drink for January; I could, honestly! Or I could give up consuming animal products; although I haven't gone full-on Veganuary, I'm definitely cutting down on dairy this year, but it's harder than it might be, we were given a lot of cheese for Christmas, I'm just trying to make it last the whole month.

Postcard of the Algerian Coffee Stores, established in Soho in 1887.

The one thing I'm certain I could never give up is coffee. I can't wake in the morning without a cup of strong, freshly brewed coffee. And then another with, or even before breakfast and a third mid-morning. One or two more during the afternoon, but not usually in the evening as it does keep me awake, well something does. And I'm picky. The best coffee as far as I'm concerned, comes in the form of black, pungent beans from the Algeria Coffee Stores on Old Compton Street in Soho. When freshly ground these make the smoothest, tastiest most aromatic coffee available in this country. I've been drinking it for 30+ years. Am I a coffee snob? You bet!

I wasn't brought up drinking coffee, or tea for that matter. Those were grown up drinks, we children had water, milk or squash, occasionally hot chocolate. No other stimulants, cola was a rare treat although I never really liked it, I preferred orangeade. The first time I consciously chose coffee was aged about 12 when I wanted to impress an adult who didn't know me and offered me coffee.

Then there was my grandmother whose idea of a treat was to boil full cream milk and mix it with cheap instant coffee powder, a truly vile concoction complete with a slimy skin which formed on the top of the cup long before it was cool enough to drink. I would try spooning the slime into the saucer so I could drink it - not drinking was not an option - and I would still be told off, for making a mess. That was the worst coffee I've ever had.

The best was in Egypt. We were on Holiday in Cairo and had been lured into a warehouse behind a much smaller shop that sold rugs and cushions and leather, camel pouffes. The proprietor was quite certain he could persuade us to buy a larger rug or even a carpet so took us through to his huge, dusty warehouse. He offered us refreshment and when the coffee came it was, obviously Turkish coffee style, sweet and strong but it was also laced with cardamom. The effect was utterly delicious, I've since had the cardamom infused coffee elsewhere and even made it myself, but that first taste in the dusty carpet warehouse is still one of my best coffee memories. Did we buy a carpet, 'La, shukran,' just an un-stuffed camel pouffe, much easier to carry onto the plane to Manchester!

So when I'm old and grey - any minute now - and a medical person, who doesn't know anything about me apart from a few stats on a computer screen, says to me "You should probably give up drinking coffee you know, have a nice cup of decaf tea," I will decline sweetly, go home and have a nice cup of extra strong Algerian Special - no sugar, but maybe a pinch of cardamom.