A training course - and a train - took me back to Leeds, where I spent many happy hours as a teenager browsing for cerise, batwinged items in Clockhouse at C&A.
Things are not the same. Clockhouse is long gone. The cellar steakhouse - the height of class for a dad-and-daughter meal out in the 1980s, where you could watch people's feet go past and pretend you were in the Cheers bar - has closed.
The sewing shop has turned into something completely terrifying.
Reaching the theatre venue, however, was more comforting. A very long time ago I had a first date there, to see Reece Dinsdale in The Revenger's Tragedy.
(Where I grew up, men who took you to the theatre were few and far between. The only choice open to me was to have his children.)
Strangely, a couple of months ago Mr Coffee went to someone's office for a meeting; on the wall was the poster for the very production we'd seen.
Larkin's almost-instinct was right. What will survive of us is love. Not steakhouses, not sewing, but love. And, of course, Reece Dinsdale.