It’s what people call “a scorcher”. And I have to work in it, operating a hot, hissing coffee machine. I keep suggesting iced coffee, or iced something, as an alternative, but most of my customers – they don’t like change. I’ve had tables and sunshades outside since Easter. But it’s so hot today, I bet people will come inside.
And here they come. It’s Wednesday, it’s opening time and the Grumbling Crumblies are ready to barge in with their walkers and sticks. They’re sporting enormous sunhats and sunglasses. Only three women today, plus the two husbands, and the patient dog, who looks more world-weary than they do.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I love elderly people. They are my regular customers, and they’re very nice. My décor, which is 1950s retro – Formica and stuff – it’s for them. They say it reminds them of Wimpys. But I do wish that they didn’t over-share about their this-oscopy and that-ectomy. Don’t they realise that other people can’t help but hear when they are raising their voices for their friend with the enormous hearing aids?
This particular bunch like to make themselves felt in the place. They rearrange chairs and tables, open or close windows and blinds, and try to hog the fan intended for the whole café. Now, they’ll settle down to compete in the “how ill am I?” stakes. Well, I suppose opening up about your gammy legs, failing faculties and endless rounds of medical appointments and changing prescriptions must be a comfort to them.
“Phew!” One woman fans herself with her sunhat. “This reminds me of Nineteen-seventy-six!” And they all sigh with awe, as if 1976 was the best year ever. Well, this is a new subject, thank goodness.
“Do you remember the shorthand exam—”
Shorthand? I wonder what that is, as I start to take their orders.
“Ha! Day-release mechanics for me! What do they call the old tech now? Fancy-tralala Uni.”
“At least we had real jobs then, in real companies. Look at the industrial estate now – it’s all Internet stuff.”
“And we had real cars that leaked oil and went rusty—”
“Cars? Ya great softy! I still miss my Bonnie—”
Bonnie? What or who is that?
“That summer, eh? After the exams. We went from all day at the Lido to all night at the Top Rank Club. It’s amazing that we didn’t get sick of the sight of each other! And yet, here we are…”
They laugh, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to be friends forever. Well, this is more cheerful. I bring a water jug and glasses. They need it, even if they think they don’t.
The anecdotes roll on – the motorbike broken down on the new bit of the M4…the Italian lifeguard at the Lido fussing over Linda when she got heatstroke…Vic getting arrested for a failed headlight…the blur of Bacardi and coke after the exam results…the morning the wreckage of the burned-out disco was found…MASH, The Good Life and Fawlty Towers on TV…sideburns and sunburn – lots of it…
They pause to pass round wet wipes to mop their sweaty faces.
“Steamy days. Steamy nights. Whay-hey! Women’s bits hanging out, jiggling around—” One of the husbands has piped up.
“Shut up, Bob! You were a bloomin’ sex pest back then.” Says a woman who probably isn’t his wife.
Ugh! Him? That’s so gross.
“He still is.” Says a woman who probably is his wife.
Even more gross. I wish they’d get back to the medical stuff, but they seem to think it’s the funniest joke in history.
The other husband cuts in. “Have you seen that thing on Facebook? The government apologises to survivors of 1976 that we didn’t warn you that the sun can be hot.”
They hoot with laughter. For people with so many issues, they are easily pleased in the humour department.
“It was hot from March to October! And no-one talked about standpipes until September.”
“Yes, but we didn’t wash so often then, mate!”
Another burst of hilarity.
“They need to bring back the Minister for Drought – he made it rain alright!”
They laugh again. 1976 must have been a real blast.
“These days, a few hot days and they think we’re going to hell in a handcart…”
I deliver three English Breakfast teas, two flat whites and an assortment of cakes.
“Thanks, love.”
Grrr. Old geezers. They’re all like him, so patronising. But here I am, grinning politely at all of them and expecting the tip bottle to tinkle with pound coins when they pay.
The banter kicks off again.
“I suppose we had the energy for the hot weather back then. Now, it just drains me. I’m not complaining, but look at poor Viv, stuck at home with her breathing problems -”
“And Barry, he’s suffering with his allergies -”
“I’m worried that Wendy will have a stroke – she’s a martyr to her blood pressure –“
Well, it didn’t take long for the nostalgia to flip back to health problems. Do I have to listen to this? Can I screen it out if I start wiping down everything I wiped down just before opening? Hoorah! I can hear the door handle. I turn to greet the customer with a huge smile.
“Phew, it’s a scorcher! Reminds me of 1976! But it’s playing havoc with my medication. And I’ve got such a heat rash!” The customer, a regular called Joe, waves his hand up and down his body. I really can’t bear the image that’s sprung into my head.
“Your usual Capuchino, Joe, or would you like to try an iced coffee? It might help cool you down.”
Joe looks a bit puzzled.
“You know, my darlin’, I think I might just do that. Here’s a fiver for the drink and keep the change.”
Ah. Bless him! Poor Joe.
“Thanks! You’re very kind. You take a seat in a shady corner, Joe, and I’ll bring it right over.”
This piece was first broadcast on BBC Upload, August 6th 2026.
Photo: Dapdune Wharf, Guildford, Surrey, UK, on a very hot June day in 2026.
