Sprung in black three-stripe lycra the little coffee ninja made us a brew. She showed she had processed the request by gymnastically popping off her stool and initiating the breakfast sequence. With one hand in a pocket and the other jittery through unkempt near-curls, an acceptable word order had formed and spilled over the tips, the chocolate beans, the twisted bars and the business cards. At least I didn't need to prove anything. She smiled neatly cheeky, sweetly quelling the stagnant air: "take a seat, I'll be with you in a minute" --crisper than cornflakes clearly she had what it takes, but I, shuffling over the papers, clearly didn't.