In the corner of the room, he found an old manuscript lying on the floor. Beer he read. It never did get finished. A wry smile and he set beside the glass enclosure in the corner. The typewriter and the box of tissues still visible inside, amongst the trees.

Behind the counter, he found the shelves thick with dust, but largely undisturbed. Taking a rag from beside the sink, he cleaned things up a little - Gods own Tankard, a brass plaque inscribed "Gimme Points ", an ancient book of prophecy clearly written by an eejit and a jar of golden honey. Odd, he thought to himself, he had been sure that particular type of honey wasn't on the shelf anymore...

He started from his reverie at a noise like a horse being strangled coming from the kitchen. Going to investigate, he discovered that he could barely get into the kitchen for piles upon piles of tablecloths and towels. Lying on a makeshift bed was giant of a man, snoring like a drain. He made his way over and found the armoured man curled up, clutching a battered, black iron helmet. He slipped the horned helmet from the sleeping giant's grasp and smiled. "This can go behind the bar", he thought.

He turned, and started to make his way back to the front of the cafe, but he heard the sound of 300lb of metal and muscle springing to its feet and turned. He was swept up in a bear hug that left him unable to breathe let alone speak.

"I knew you'd come back," sobbed Vigo. "I knew you or the Overlord would come back for me."

"Good to see you Vigo," he replied. "I knew you'd still be here, somewhere." They looked at each other for a second, then straightened up. "Can you get the kitchen ready to open up?"

"Course," said Vigo. "Give me an hour"

"You might want to start with all this laundry," he said, examining a towel from the stack. "Where did it all come from, anyway?"

"Well, the two little Chinese men that always took care of it, they kept coming the whole time you were away. I didn't have the heart to tell them."

Looking at the towel he snorted, "They still can't make them white, I see." He turned and headed back to the cafe.

Vigo called one last time "Do you think that little Irish fellow will be back, my Coochiecoo?"

Shrugging, he headed back.

He straightened the table under the lights at the back. It was still laden with books and still smelt faintly of whale oil. Strange.

The next table was still set up with a board game. "Board Wars" it proclaimed across the centre of the playing area. He returned the four playing pieces to their starting spots - the medieval lady, the raven, the coin embossed with the letters RAV and the slightly effete Englishman holding a glass of Pims.

He cleaned out the fireplace next, starting a new one in its place. One the softest armchair, he arranged the travel rug for the cafe's most elderly customer to lay over his knees, and pulled the dog basket over to the foot of the chair. He was surprised to find that the dog in the basket still had it's legs running beneath it, forever moving and going nowhere.

He dusted the trophy cabinet next. Pride of place in the centre was a newspaper with the headline "German with a sense of humour found", underneath a blurry picture and a story about crashing test dummies onto a handball court. The corners of the cabinet held a small bear with a book, and a beautiful and talented stuffed squirrel.

A final wipe of the counter, and everything was ready.

He poured himself a thick, black coffee. He sat just a moment and smelled it, washing away the scents of Death and opportunity that had been following him for weeks, then strode across the room and threw open the doors.

Welcome one, welcome all. The Monday Cafe is back, at least for one day. Come, sit and have a drink. Tell me about your troubles on this bleak Monday morning.

Join me in toasting the health of TheMonkeyThatCried, even if she goes not by that name anymore. Raise a drink to Rachel and tell me...