Little chef, Labi Siff

For some bizarre reason I have time to kill at Little Chef at Barnetby Top this morning. A strangely comforting retro experience, as these roadside diners haven't had a decor overhaul for decades, still sell travel sweets and attract all sorts of nefarious diners, even at 7 in the morning. Jaded travelling salesmen, lovers bound for Grimbo and Cleethorpes, and me, imagining I'm a cross between the cafe scene from Midnight Cowboy and Tom Waits' Nighthawks At The Diner album. Labi Siffre's Lean On Me is on the radio, the coffee isn't strong enough to defend itself, and despite my insistence on marmite, I am brought marmalade. The cost of my order: Black Coffee and two sides of toast, is, however, not retro. £3.84 is perhaps the reason why the LCs are slowly going the way of the Happy Eater. Not quite clubbing manna, but an idle hour well spent. And they've improved the lollipops.

Reading: The Motorcycle Diaries (esp the sections on Machu Pichu and Cuzco, the navel of the Incan empire)

Listening: Shocking Blue - Hot Sand (off series two of Life On Mars); the Arcade Fire

Useless Lincolnshire Fact: Its known as Poacher county and there's a Zimbabween down the road swears he's Elvis (and that its still called Rhodesia).