Food for thought (or punchlines at mealtimes)

The debt-ridden novelist Honore de Balzac wrote many of his 85 masterpieces in French cafes. An impoverished J K Rowling completed her first ‘Harry Potter’ manuscript in coffee bars, making each beverage last an hour, like the pensioner in Ralph McTell’s ‘Streets of London’. And, somewhat further down the literary food chain (but no less hard-up), the Radio Gagster comes up with many of his topical jokes while sitting in a Subway, a McDonald’s, or, if he’s actually been paid by a presenter, a Starbucks.

What is it about writers and cafes?

Is it that we’re outsiders who like to observe others’ everyday lives and eavesdrop on their conversations for inspiration? Or could it simply be that many of us live in conditions that would make the producers of BBC 1’s ‘Life of Grime’ shudder, so that even the grottiest greasy spoon would seem like the Ritz by comparison?

I first got into the cafe habit at Broadcasting House where many BBC Radio Light Entertainment writers probably started going up to the canteen because it was less stressful than trying to buy anything from the tea bar at 16 Langham Street.

One woman who served in there was absolutely terrifying. From the moment a customer appeared at the door, she would glare at them and bellow ‘WHADDYA WANT?’ As soon as they’d made their hurried selection, she would hold a hand out for payment a millimetre under their nose, stare at the coins suspiciously, deposit them in the till with a grunt, and then move on to her next victim.

The writer would return to the task of fearlessly scripting satirical sketches to bring down the Establishment - while still quaking from their encounter with the BBC tea lady.

The BH canteen was situated on the eighth floor and commanded spectacular views. It was open 24 hours a day and, despite being the butt of so many jokes over the years, served food that was perfectly acceptable, reasonably priced (i.e. subsidised) and very varied. There was one problem, however: you couldn’t always tell what you were getting. Savoury dishes seemed to be cunningly disguised as desserts, and vice versa.

A colleague, Ben Francis, was a vegetarian. One day he dished out runner beans along with what appeared to be a savoury white sauce. This turned out to be custard. It will perhaps give you some idea of the eccentricity of radio comedy writers if I tell you that he actually said to me, in all seriousness, ‘I didn’t half feel ill by the time I’d finished it’.

Things weren’t much better if you knowingly bought the stuff. A BH canteen cashier once accidentally dropped £1 change straight into my custard. Instead of apologising, she simply came out with a perfect, seventies sitcom-style ‘OOH-ER!’ She really should have been performing on radio, not serving its writers.

Nowadays, as I work on my material in a cafe, there is often an ILR station playing in the background and this is useful, not only for breaking news as I approach a deadline but also for keeping me up to date with presenters’ styles.

And if I find a place that’s conducive to coming up with ideas, I’ll go there most days for months, sometimes years on end. Proprietors get used to seeing me with my pile of newspapers, my notebooks and my anxious glances at the clock. They tolerate me, just as I sometimes have to tolerate them…

A café owner who was obsessed with keeping dogs once spent some considerable time explaining to me, in full gory detail, the complete process for castrating a King Charles spaniel. It was difficult trying to write after that with my legs so firmly crossed.

But then that’s a different kind of Ball-sac…

(Republished from the Radio Magazine Issue 734, 10 May 2006)