On favourite cafes, small rituals and the quests that begin with a cup in hand.

The Nearest Cup

My favourite coffee shop isn’t just the closest, though that helps. It’s genuinely good. It sits a few minutes from my front door, right by the train station, perfectly placed between home and the town centre. I like to think I chose it for the beans or the vibe, but the truth is simpler: it’s on the way, and it’s there when I need it.

The Atmosphere

From the outside, it doesn’t look like much. A handful of tables, a cute mirror sign, the steady shuffle of people coming and going. But it has its own rhythm. You hear the roll of suitcase wheels on the pavement, the chatter of office staff escaping their cubicles, the run club on some Saturday morning. The hiss of the steam wand cutting through it all, like they’re trying to take us back to the golden age of train travel. And inside, time does slow down just enough. Long enough to take a breath, to sip, to watch the world hurry past without you.

The Coffee Itself

And the coffee? It’s good. Not just good-for-a-train-station, but actually good. Smooth espresso shots, that taste like someone cared about getting it right. It’s the kind of place you could recommend to a friend and not have to apologize afterwards. Which makes it even better that it’s mine: close enough to be casual, but good enough to feel like a treat.

And then there are the pastries. Real pastries, not the sad shrink-wrapped kind that taste like regret. I’m talking about almond croissants dusted with sugar, the kind that leave a little trail of flakes across the table like edible confetti. Pair one with a cup and suddenly errands feel like indulgence. Coffee in one hand, pastry in the other and even I will concede the day doesn’t look half as daunting.

The Ritual

What I love most is that this place has become my starting line. The stop that marks the beginning of whatever comes next. Some days it’s just errands, other days it’s train journeys or something bigger, but the coffee is always the ritual that kicks it off.

It’s my Rivendell of coffee: a pause before the quest. Sometimes I’m off to the Undying Lands, sometimes I’m trudging toward Mordor, but either way, I start here . A cup in hand and the sense that at least I’m equipped for whatever’s coming. And sometimes it’s not just me. Sometimes there’s a council. A friend across the table, a small circle of confidence before we set off. Not quite the Council of Elrond, but close enough. Plans are made, jokes are shared, and for a moment the world feels steady. And when it doesn’t? Well, someone will loan me an axe.

Closing Sip

It’s not the best coffee I’ve ever had, that title still belongs to some rainy day in Wellington, memory-polished and unreachable, but it’s the best coffee I can get today. And that matters more. Because this place doesn’t just hand me caffeine; it hands me a beginning. A reason to keep moving.

A Rivendell in a paper cup.

And honestly? That’s magic.