So... that was interesting.

So there I was full of bravado and high expectations and here I am now sitting on the couch when I should be on the street making coffee. Two weeks in the coffee business is a long time but I had no idea it would involve homeless architects, caffeine over-doses and industrial sabotage - perhaps I was being naive?

Problems with my "silent" generator meant getting the cart running required an electricity supply. In the eleventh hour the local mini cab rank stepped up to the plate. Witness my haggling prowess:

Me: I want to use your electricity.

Boss: What are you offering?

Me: Twenty quid a week.

Internal monologue: Shit. That was too much.

Boss: Thirty.

Me: Deal.

Internal monologue: Shit.

Boss: I'll tell you what - let's call it twenty five.

Me: Thanks.

Internal monologue: Damn you're good.

The first days rolled passed pleasantly. I made a few coffees, made some new friends and was generally having a ball. But then things started to go wrong. I turned up one morning and my power was switched off. Despite claiming to be a 24 hour service the cab office didn't open until 11am I sat on the pavement and sulked as my few regulars walked past sheepishly clutching a rival cup of joe. And this kept happening.

Now I am not accusing anyone but the arseholes in the local greasy spoon were definitely behind it.

This all came to a head when the taxi boss got out of his blacked out Range Rover and said he was pulling the plug. Apparently the local greasy spoon had put the hard word on them and they crumbled (I knew it was them really).

Me: I pulled a dead rat out of your toilet damn it! Where is the loyalty?

Boss: Really? That is disgusting!

Me: I know. Wish I hadn't done it now.

So to cut a long story short... another business gave me power only to pull the plug under similar circumstances while others "didn't want to start any trouble". I know this is Soho but I am making lattes not trying to muscle in on the local prostitution scene.

So that's me until I can get my little Ape running independently with the help of some gas and some big-arse batteries. But on the bright side I made it work and even without me there the local greasy spoon can't. As I drove out in temporary defeat I couldn't help asking the greasy spoon a question:

Me: So where are all these customers I am supposed to be stealing off you?

Internal monologue: Damn you're good.

Tale of Nick the Homeless Architect to follow.