Getting over hangovers in cafes

I saw this cafe in Southsea, at the end of Victoria Road South - I liked the look of it - I admired its workmanlike appearance - I relished the plain yellow frontage, the take away menu with its red and black lettering, the striped awning over the door - here was a place where breakfasts were served all day - where you'd be asked if you wanted real tomatoes or tinned tomatoes -

Richard's judgement of the Cottage Cafe went, I think, right to the heart of the matter - decent breakfasts - run by a brusque gaffer with a Thai wife - 

But seeing the Cottage Cafe, reminded me of all the times I had entered such places to get over hangovers - the number of times I had nursed my head, reeling inside a cafe like this - I would ask for scrambled eggs with tinned tomatoes - I would gulp down a mug of scalding coffee - gaze dully at the huge poster of the Portsmouth Football Team - avoid the special table where the sinister taxi drivers sat -

Very slowly I would start to feel myself again - sometimes my arms would seem longer than usual - it would be a relief not to hear music being played backwards, jangling inside my head -

At last, I would push aside my plate, look at Richard, and get up from the table - later I would look up at the fresh blue sky -