12/02/2026
One minute I’m living my best life pulling silky, crema-topped shots from my beloved Neff machine like I run a Shoreditch espresso bar.
The next?
Silence.
No whirr.
No hiss.
No glorious extraction.
Just me.
A kettle.
And a jar of instant Millicano staring back at me like,
“Lower your standards, mate.”
I wasn’t prepared for the emotional damage.
There’s something humbling about going from freshly ground beans and perfect pressure…
to spooning brown dust into a mug and pretending it’s fine.
It’s not fine.
It’s survival.
Send help.
Or an engineer.
Or at least thoughts and prayers for the fallen coffee king.
☕💔
