The man behind the counter of the roadside coffee kiosk was very happy to see me.
"Welcome to Woodville," he cried. He was smiling from ear to ear, a brilliant ambassador for the crossroads town on a grey and chilly Sunday morning.
"It's rather windy here," I ventured.
He laughed: "We could turn the windmills off for you. That normally fixes the problem."
I thought that was a good line so I bought a long black coffee from him. He made it well, not too much water.