This morning, like every morning, I started my day in a coffee shop. It’s become a way of life, a habit if you will. Why else persist with a ritual like this if it isn’t for the pleasure of it or to avoid the inevitable caffeine induced headache if I ever stop.

While on the road, my early morning coffee stops have provided me with a place to meet new people, watch the world go by and to gather my plans for the day. If I’ve the mind, it’s also become a regular moment when I might write some rubbish about LUE (life, the universe and everything)

Today’s LUE is obviously about habit, not just the morning coffee shop type but the habit of a costume – the wearing of a religious uniform.

“Hey, look at me I’m an XYZ god-botherer and this is my hat, or my headscarf or my beard, or my symbol to tell you that I belong to this or that clan. And by the way, you, you who look like a real tosser, no good atheist in your blue jeans and t-shirt don’t (belong to my clan, that is) .”

It’s Saturday morning in Golders Green, London NW11. The time is approximately 08:00 and I’ve just walked the 15-20 minutes from mother’s home to Caffé Nero for my double-shot espresso with hot water on the side. They make a good espresso at Café Nero and so far I’ve managed to down 2 cups on each visit. Three more stamps on my card and I will get a free one, and since I’m of that faith where anything free is worth grabbing with both hands, I am looking forward with consummate delight to that momentous day when I will receive my due and just reward.

The walk from my mother’s home is almost as interesting as a short stroll along the Ganga. There are no painted sadhus here, but there are holy (well maybe I best call them religious) men and women a plenty. Young boys and old geezers alike dressed in the garb of their various religious sects. Some wear broad-brimmed, tall black hats that sit high on the head and look particularly uncomfortable and ungainly, especially on a 16 year old.

Others sport large round fir hats (a streimel) and wear black or white tights and long silk looking coats.

And both have their white tzitzis trailing out from beneath long coats or dark suit jackets..

Some have jaunty skull caps worn on the side. And for the first time ever I saw a few young men wearing baseball hats as they walked to their synagogues for prayer and instruction.

No doubt there are very good reasons why these people parade their religious uniforms. One reason is it’s Saturday and another is probably because they like it. So who am I to nay-say their experience.

Maybe in some way wearing a religious uniform enriches people’s god experience. Maybe these things are occupational health and safety measures spelt out in their scriptures.

On the other hand, maybe they’re nothing more than a habit.

Some people love solitude. They love the thought of living off the beaten track in their own private paradise, away from the foibles and the kids of Mr and Mrs Average.

This is not a slight on average. Average is what most of us are, me included, but still people (like me) dream of it not being so.

Anyway, we stayed in this cabin a few years back. It was way too far off the beaten track even for me, but I enjoyed the stay and I also enjoyed the leaving, and I also enjoyed the early morning espresso coffee we managed to find on long drive home.

Drinking coffee –
early morning
on a winding country road

maybe not a Haiku by John Holman

I woke at about 4am this morning to the sound of a gong. There is a monastery close to my guesthouse and each morning the gong sounds at 4 – slowly at first and then faster and faster until it just as suddenly stops. The vibrations hang in the air for a while and I lie in my rather hard bed thinking that I might hear the sound waves reverberate on forever. But as they get softer and softer this canned Hindu music starts up. It’s very loud and kills any subtleties that may have existed a moment before. I haven’t found it yet but there must be a Hindi temple close and for the next hour this loud, prayer-like music is all pervasive.

It’s cold this morning. People are rugged up and so am I. I walk the 2km to the Sarnath Cafe, order a black Nescafe coffee and my newest friend, Sukhdev Singh Saini arrives a few moments later with a hot curry toasted sandwich for me.

Daisy, Sukhdev and Rajan’s eldest daughter’s auto has arrived to take her to school, she shouts ‘goodbye John Uncle’ as she runs out the door.

Maybe theses guys aren’t old friends but they sure looked that way to me. I like the thought of sitting in a cafe drinking coffee and mulling over the problems of the world with a friend. I say ‘with a friend’ because I like being contrary. I enjoy taking the opposite stance even if I don’t believe it. Some of my friends understand that and play along. Sometimes even swapping points of view mid argument.

As well as the pure joy of an animated discussion, that type of gas-bagging also reminds me there often is no clear, right or wrong, answer to an issue. Some things, most things, just are.

Most mornings my wife goes for a walk with our poodle dog, Toots. She takes the car and parks it near the beach and then takes off on one of her many marathon jaunts. Me, I walk from home — for a shorter distance and at a slower pace, and I listen to an audio book and maybe take a few snapshots. We usually meet at a cafe and sit outside, drinking a coffee or two and passing the time of day talking with the many morning-people we have come to know and enjoy and watching the town wake and the kids ride passed on their bikes going to school.

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