The Companionable Hermitage

I’ve written about this elsewhere recently, but, sitting on a train without net access, I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned it here in the blog. Either way, it’s almost all there is to say today, so forgive me.

I felt a need this morning for focus in my work, so I dropped a line to my day-job boss and decamped to my favourite Starbucks in all the world.

People who know this particular habit of mine have been scratching their heads for a while over why I do this, and particularly over why I only ever do this at one particular branch of the Coffee Giant’s empire.

This is to mistake the thing slightly – I’m happy to take a Starbucks from any branch, as people who know me know to their cost – it’s kind of like dragging Carrie Bradshaw past a shoe shop: not gonna happen without a quick pop-in and a purchase. And when deadlines have loomed, I’ve sat in other Starbucks in plenty of cities and plenty of locations, with my computer and, for instance, waited for companions to get done with shopping. But I only have one real “home” branch of the UberBeansters.

It’s the St Mary’s Street branch, Cardiff.

And why? Why’s this branch “my branch”? To be honest, it began with laziness – on my Monday UberCommutes from Merthyr to London, it was the nearest to Cardiff Central train station, so I could get off the train in Cardiff, go and grab an early morning wake-up coffee, then get back on a train to London, more awake, more alive and ready to work all the way there.

Quickly though, it got to be about more than that. There was one particular staff member on those early UberCommute mornings, who cheered my heart with a friendly tone and a smile that went beyond  customer service, seeming genuinely happy to see me – and, I noticed, she seemed genuinely happy to see everyone else she served too. That sent me off to London with not just a de-caff non-buzz, but a smile in the thought of happy people doing a job they enjoyed, and spreading that happiness around, just because they could.

I began spending days there last November, when, due to my lack of ability to notice fundamental things, it turned out I had to take a month’s annual leave before the end of the year. With my wife unable to take the same sort of swathe of leave time, I had three options – I could sit in the flat alone, in my pure, white-walled office, I could go off exploring the area on random buses, alone, or I could pour my energies into my editing business, and my own writing. I chose this last option, but again, the options were to sit in my own world in my silent white office at home, or to find a place that stimulated my creative impulses. I tried the second and went back to St Mary’s Street.

While the staff member who had first cheered my heart had gone home to Ireland, I soon found the rest of the crew there were – almost without exception – equally cheery, equally ready with an endless supply of beverages, and endlessly discrete – while they were friendly when needed, they’d also leave me the hell alone to get on with stuff. You do the maths: free wifi, comfy chairs and tables, free power for the computer, cheerful people and an unending stream of coffee-based beverages. What more could you ask for? Well, fine, a bathroom, but there’s obviously one of those. And people. People to watch from a quiet corner, people to add their pulses to your own, to engage your imagination and your spirit of fun.

That of course is the real gift of Starbucks, St Mary’s Street. Working alone, and working from home as I do, I’m absolutely not going to try and tell you it’s anything other than brilliant. But what it also is is quiet. There are no watercooler moments, there is no conviviality, and it’s all too easy to become something of a hermit, saying not a word to anyone throughout a working day.

Starbucks, St Mary’s Street is a place of comfort to me. A place of conviviality. It is, if you like, a companionable hermitage – a place where I can focus on my work, while drawing a buzz of conversation and the pulse of other people into my day. It increases my productivity, puts a smile on my face, and reminds me there are stories all around us, in every half-caff cappuccino guy or sharp-suited double espresso lady, every tourist passing through who grabs a latte, and every local who now just asks for their regular. All of life comes through those doors, and if you sit quiet in your corner, you can see and feel it all, over the brim of your drink-in cup.

I’ll be back soon. Maybe I’ll see you there.