THE TIDE HAS TURNED. NEITHER PUSHING FORWARDS NOR PULLING BACK. PERHAPS WE WILL STAY HERE AWHILE AND STRETCH TO TOUCH THE GREY OUTSIDE THE WINDOW.

THERE IS AN OLD SUPERSTITION THAT IF THE LID OF A TEA POT IS LEFT OFF 'THERE'LL BE A STRANGER AT YOUR DOOR'. IT IS RAINING WHEN I REACH THE CAFE. I HAD INTENDED TO ARRIVE BEFORE THE SKY DARKENED BUT HAD BECOME DISTRACTED BY CONVERSATIONS WITH A CONVEYOR BELT OF RESIDENTS AND SHOPKEEPERS, KEEN TO SPEAK WITH ME ABOUT MY WORK. 

I DRINK FROM A WHITE CHINA MUG, THINKING OF THE BOOK 'THREE CUPS OF TEA' IN WHICH THE PAKISTANI VILLAGE CHIEF HAJI ALI IS QUOTED AS SAYING: 'HERE IN PAKISTAN AND AFGHANISTAN WE DRINK THREE CUPS OF TEA TO DO BUSINESS; THE FIRST YOU ARE A STRANGER, THE SECOND YOU BECOME A FRIEND, AND THE THIRD YOU JOIN OUR FAMILY'. THE REMAINDER OF THE BOOK IS MOSTLY ABOUT THE MOUNTAINEER GREG MORTENSEN'S MISSION TO BUILD SCHOOLS IN PAKISTAN, BUT IT IS THE TEA QUOTE THAT HAS STUCK.

- WHY P CAFE, I ASK 

- IT STANDS FOR PAINTING, POETRY AND PHILOSOPHY, BRENDAN REPLIES. WE'RE STILL ESTABLISHING EXACTLY WHAT IT IS. KEEPING OPEN TO SUGGESTION. 

MY EYES FALL ON A BOX OF CHILDREN'S WOODEN BRICKS, A CHESS SET, THE MISMATCHED LEATHER SOFAS AND DARK WOODEN CHAIRS. P FOR PEOPLE AND PLAY I THINK. LIKE THE INITIALS ON A LETTER, BOTH INTIMATE AND ANONYMOUS. 

- KIERAN MY BROTHER, AND I LOVE THE CONVERSATIONS WE HAVE WITH ARTISTS. PERHAPS AN IDENTITY WILL ESTABLISH ITSELF OUT OF THAT.

I WATCH AS THE TEA LEAVES SLOWLY SINK TO THE BOTTOM OF THE POT. PRUFROCK MEASURED OUT HIS TIME IN COFFEE SPOONS. TEA IS MORE MEDITATIVE AND I WONDER HOW MANY OTHERS HAVE WATCHED THE LEAVES UNFURL AS THEY WAIT FOR (WHAT I DO NOT KNOW).

- OUR POETRY EVENTS ARE ALREADY VERY POPULAR. PERHAPS IT WILL BE A PLACE WHERE A POET FEELS THEY CAN WRITE OR DO A READING. LAUNCH A BOOK. WE WANT PEOPLE TO COME AND TO STAY.

I NOTICE THAT MY POT NEEDS REFILLING. NEARBY TWO WOMEN LEAN FORWARDS, DEEP IN CONVERSATION. I WATCH THEM FOR A WHILE. HAVE THEY NOTICED THE SAME PATTERNS FORM IN THEIR TEA CUPS?

- THINGS CAN'T BE RUSHED. WE'RE STILL RELATIVELY NEW TO THE AREA AND LEARNING WHAT PEOPLE WANT.

A FEW MONTHS AGO I RECOMMENDED MORTENSEN'S STORY TO A FRIEND WHO I HAD RUN INTO UNEXPECTEDLY AFTER YEARS APART. AS IT HAPPENED HE HAD ALREADY READ THE BOOK, AROUND THE SAME TIME THAT I HAD FIRST DISCOVERED MY COPY IN A SMALL BOOKSHOP OUTSIDE OF NEW YORK. TWO WEEKS PASSED. WE WERE ON OUR THIRD CUP OF TEA. 

- IT WOULDN'T BE AN INTERESTING ART SPACE WITHOUT THE CAFE. IT WOULD BE AN EMPTY SHELL, SAYS JONNY THE CAFE'S CURATOR. EVERY DAY REAL PEOPLE COME IN AND ARE EXPOSED TO CONTEMPORARY ART. THE HIGH STREET IS LIKE A GRAVEYARD BUT PEOPLE CAN COME HERE. AND THEY DO COME HERE.

A FEW WEEKS AFTER OUR THIRD CUP HE LEFT. I HAVE NOT SEEN HIM SINCE.

I SUGGEST TO BRENDAN THAT STIRCHLEY FEELS IN LIMBO. MORE ON THE EDGE OF SOMETHING, HE SMILES. IN TRANSITION, WE AGREE. IT IS MY SECOND VISIT.

AS I WALK THROUGH THE RAIN I LOOK BACK TO WHERE MY REFLECTION WATCHES ME FROM THE CAFE'S WINDOW. 

WE'LL MEET AGAIN

I TURN AND WALK AWAY.