I talk to... CHARLOTTE

age: 24
nationality: Belgian
type of visitor: occasional
drinking: green tea
eating: a chocolate bar

painting: "C" by Yannis Psychopedis

Charlotte is reading books and taking notes. She works steadily and calmly. Her long hair is piled high over her head, as if it knows it mustn't get in the way of her work. She says she comes here because it's authentic and not too trendy -- plus she can "nearly" see her flat from the window. A student at Edinburgh College of Art, her final-year dissertation concerns the influence of Greek antiquities on contemporary art. She mentions an artist called Yannis Psychopedis.

Later I wikipedia him: "Yannis Psychopedis is one of the main Greek exponents of artistic Critical Realism, an art movement that developed in Europe after the political and social upheavals of 1968."

After leaving the Elephant House I see Charlotte again, outside. She is smoking a cigarette in the freezing cold, and doesn't see me.

I talk to... DEREK

age: "kicking on 60"
nationality: Scottish
type of visitor: regular
drinking: two cups of coffee and a diet coke
eating: tuna & sweetcorn baguette, fruit scone

Derek writes on a pad of lined A4 paper that nestles in a black leather binder. The top page is numbered "2054". During the hour we share a table, he writes pages 2055, 2056 and 2057. There are no line breaks. At a conservative estimate of 300 words per page, he has written a 600,000-word paragraph. He listens to music - a folk group called Silly Wizard, I learn - as his giant paragraph accumulates more words, sentences, pages.

I ask him what he is writing. "Whatever comes into my head when I'm writing it." I ask him if he reads his journal, and he says no. No one has ever read it. It's purpose is not to be read, but to be the thing he writes in as he explores the present tense. I ask him why he does it, and he tells me that many years ago a section of the right temporal lobe of his brain "started to rot -- it's the opposite of a brain tumour, because tumours grow by feeding". The illness resulted in epileptic fits, 18 or 20 a day. To cure the fits, he had an operation to remove a small section of his brain, since when he has a different kind of memory, and is drawn to writing down the present.

He has retired from his role as the Director of an advertising agency, and is forward-looking and content. As he starts packing up to go home, I notice among his belongings an impressive-looking book on Nietzsche. We agree that life is a perplexing and adventure, and say goodbye.

I have a meeting with... COLIN

age: 32
nationality: Scottish
type of visitor: regular
drinking: filter coffee
eating: nothing

Colin edits the short story website confiction.org and the anonymous submissions poetry magazine Anon -- both of great interest to creative writers. For a long time no one knew what Colin looked like due to the amount of hair emanating from his head and face; some doubted if there was a Colin underneath the hairiness. This exclusive photograph proves that Colin has had a haircut and exists. He looks so surprised because he can see again.

Poem posters

The cafe has been exhibiting six poems from my book Folly as framed posters since August, but soon they're coming down. Here's one of the sadder ones...



Maybe next year we'll do something similar.

I talk to... IRFAN

age: mid-thirties
nationality: don't know
type of customer: occasional
drinking: chamomile tea
eating: nothing

Irfan is a quirky, appealing-looking guy. The black fluffy hair on his head has fought a short war with a gust of Edinburgh's wind, and is standing upright in surrender. An emphatic pair of spectacles straddles his boyish face. He doesn't move much, and he only opens his eyes sporadically to sip at his chamomile tea, or to write notes in a black notebook.

He has a peaceful, still presence. When I introduce myself - in one of his eyes-open moments - his manner is open and trusting. He says he is meditating. "When I meditate, my mind disappears - or almost." He has studied many schools of meditation, over fifteen years, and is writing a book on the subject. Perhaps he'd say that unnecessary thoughts are merely the noise our fear makes, and that cultivating an empty mind when doing nothing is the absence of being afraid of things.

Two young schoolgirls sit down opposite us. Their excitable, inane, nourishing chatter is too rich; Irfan smiles at me and departs for a quieter niche in this world.

postscript:
I googled the name 'Irfan' later, and found that in Arabic, Persian and Urdu it means 'knowing', while in Pashto it means 'the most beautiful and knowledgeful person'.