Kershaw's Sandwich and Deli Bar, Bury.

This Cafe boasted of Outside Catering and Cappucinos. I couldn’t resist it. I went it. The last time I was here I had been given a coffee in a polystyrene cup. Things have changed, the place has had a facelift. I was the only customer, it was 8.55 on a Saturday morning. I ordered the breakfast platter and a coffee. I was asked if I wanted Bury black pudding and toast. I declined the former but accepted the latter.  There were no chittys involved in this ordering process, my order was not written down.  I sat down with the Saturday Sun. The woman who served me was keeping busy, she was re-filling pots of coleslaw and I saw her rolling knives and forks in paper napkins. She brought me a steaming mug of coffee just as the door opened. In came two young chaps wearing shell suits of varying shades of grey. They both ordered sausages on toast. They were told there was a 10 minute wait for sausages. They said that was ok. Next, came my knife and fork, rolled in a napkin, closely followed by my toast. The youths were talking about a fight that had broken out the night before. One of the young lads was absolutely disgusted that someone could fight in front of kids. I turned my head to the left to look at this youngster. I heard a microwave ping and then got back to my newspaper.  I noticed there was a five pound money off voucher for Tesco in The Sun. I made a mental note to keep the paper. My food arrived. It was on a square plate, which matched the square mug. The food was piping hot and bloody lovely. The lads got their sausage on toast and I ate up. The woman asked me if she could open the door to let out the steam, but if the place got draughty I was to let her know. The door stayed open for less than 30 seconds before I complained it was cold with the door open. I actually said “cowd”, instead of “cold”. I have no idea why I said this. The food was amazing, it was all freshly cooked. The sausages had just the right amount of crunch on the outside. The egg was exactly how I like it (soft yolk, cooked on both sides, don’t like runny egg white). I had asked for well done bacon. It was. I don’t normally like hash browns but I gave them a go, I was not disappointed, they had a lovely, crispy, hot crust. I will not put up with luke warm beans, I didn’t have to. Toast had butter on. Mushrooms were tasty, non greasy. I paid £4.80 for the lot and could also have had a tomato and black pudding for no extra charge.  I struggled to finish it but I did. I took my crockery back to the counter and told the woman that the meal was fantastic and she looked chuffed. She gave me a big smile and said tara

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Lime Cafe Bromley Cross, Bolton

As I walked in, not a customer to be seen. It was 11am of a Saturday morning. A woman in an apron was sat in the middle of the café, she got up when I walked in and went behind the counter. I have been in this café several times before and despite the place being spotless, bright, airy and dare I say it fashionable looking, I have never seen any customers in it. I always have a brew in Lime when Danny is at the hairdressers at the end of the block. I don’t find myself in here by choice really.  The first time I chanced upon  Lime I was served by a dilatory looking bloke who took my order, one coffee and a piece of toast, then proceeded to write it down on a chitty, long hand. He told me to take a seat. I sat in the window (for the view). He brought me a filter coffee in a latte glass and despite my asking for a small jug of cold milk, I didn’t get one. My toast arrived unbuttered and lukewarm, placed on a plate the size of a saucer. I had a miniature pat of butter (not enough for two toasts) on the side and I was not given a knife.  I was up and down like a yo-yo, first for milk, secondly for more butter, thirdly for a knife. Things like this irritate the shit out of me. The table was too small for me to read the paper comfortably and the view was of the co-op. I accept responsibility for this as there are plenty of sizeable booths in Lime, ample room for the Saturday Sun.

Anyway, on this particular visit my hopes were raised as the woman who darted behind the counter as I walked in seemed on the ball. I got to the counter and there’s Mr Dilatory. I dare not chance any toast so I asked for a filter coffee. I sat in a booth. My mug of coffee was brought to me by the woman. Still no other customers in the place. I spent half an hour reading the paper. Smooth Radio was on. It was too loud and intrusive. Finally some more customers arrived. A family of five. They ordered fry ups

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Michelbachs Thornton - Cleveleys

The photographs tell you all you need to know about this establishment.

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The Larder, Salford Shopping City

I’m a big fan of signage and this establishment had plenty.  As I breezed in the woman behind the counter was tipping a catering drum of Nescafe Gold blend into a much smaller plain black container marked “Coffee”. There was one other customer in the place. Not surprising at it was just after 9 on a Wednesday morning. “Yes love”, she asked. I asked for a strong coffee and a piece of toast. I fumbled with my camera. “Mug or a cup love?”I requested a mug. She slid the steaming hot mug of black coffee towards me and as she tipped the change into my hand another woman slammed a plate of toast on the counter for me. Fresh milk was available at the end of the counter, I splashed a tad in my mug and went and sat down. Toast was from a white sliced loaf, was hot, buttery and delicious.  As I looked up from my greasy toast crumbed fingers a woman with a bag on wheels was ambling towards the counter, she shouted morning to everyone. She sat at the same table as the other customer and they both had an in depth talk of their previous nights’ sleeping habits. The woman with the bag on wheels, Margaret, had been up since three and had terrible heartburn, she had to get up and get a drink of water. Someone had rang her at 6 am, this didn’t help, and put the phone down on her. Another customer appeared. Margaret and her friend both said “Hiya John” in unison.  An old man was struggling at the counter, one of his crutches crashed to the floor. The woman who had made my toast ran round to help him; she picked up his crutch, took him by the arm and led him to a nearby table. She parked his bag on wheels next to him and asked him if he was ok. He looked about a hundred years old.  I was supping my coffee, I was happy. Mine, Margaret, Margaret’s Friend, The Centenarian and John’s utopia was suddenly interrupted by someone shouting at the top of their voice, “Hiya Red Head”. We all turned round to see what the palaver was all about. There was a man in a Man City  top at the counter. I heard a woman’s voice shout back to him, “Hiya Blue Nose”.  Man City had beat Man U 6-1 at the weekend. The pair engaged in some light hearted friendly banter. I heard the Man City Fan say “Cos you’re shit”. During this distraction I snapped away. I really wanted to photograph a sign next to John. I toyed with revealing what I was doing but instead I chose to stand up in full view of Margaret and cohorts and get the shot. The flash went off. John turned to me and gave me the most filthy, withering look. I saw this as my cue to leave. I left my empty mug and plate on the counter as I went by.

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Morrisons' Cafe, Eccles

Saturday morning. On the approach to Eccles Town Hall (the real one, not the pub), I noticed a man with a nicotine coloured beard talking to himself. He had one leg and was in a wheelchair. We thought we’d have breakfast in Morrisons’ Cafe. Danny was ahead of me ordering beans on brown toast twice whilst I was snapping away. I heard the woman behind the counter asking if we were having our normal. I added that I wanted a portion of cheese. We were handed a green plastic sign with a 16 on it. Danny did the coffees. We sped along the tray rail towards the till (as there was no queue) and we were served by a Bronagh Gallagher lookalike. We see her a lot in there and we always say she has a look of Bronagh about her. We said it again to each other, as if we had never seen her in our lives. The girl looks Irish. She repeated our order back to us, swapped the round green sign for a square one with a 16 on it and off we went to sit down. Just before I took off with the tray I was fumbling with the change and my camera. She caught me taking a photo of the Halloween Display of cakes. I was testing out my new camera, I lied. She gave me a smile that suggested she felt slightly sorry for me. We collected our serviettes, milks, knives and forks, sat down at a table at the back and put our number 16 sign in the holder. The food in Morrisons is exceptionally good value. The coffee, priced at £1.19 puts Starbucks to shame,  or any so called Coffee House if I am honest. The entire bill was only £5.35. The service is exemplary. Bronagh was polite, nothing was too much trouble for her. Our waitress plonked the beans on toast down with a cheery “enjoy your meal”. The tables are clean, the place is bright and airy and the clientele this morning were mainly middle aged people tucking into fry ups whilst reading the paper. It is refreshing, in a cafe, not to be asked constantly if we would like anything else. We don’t want any cakes, pastries or muffins for ourselves today thank you .  We don’t go for that in Morrisons’ Eccles. We say what we want.  Bollocks to Starbucks. 

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