Paja Neuhofer­o­va wears a blue flo­ral pat­tern full skirt, a short navy jack­et with the blue flo­ral fab­ric on the front, a head­band with small flow­ers. As we arrive she is sit­ting on the counter. The accor­dion she plays is a deep glossy red. It sounds jaun­ty. Eigh­teen of us are tight­ly packed in to Cof­fix on Bal­lance street. Daniel Dvo­racek ven­tures around the seat­ing tak­ing cof­fee orders. Most of us order some­thing. It’s much like a busy cof­fee shop on a Mon­day morn­ing.

The accor­dion slows down. Dvo­racek takes a seat to the side. He’s pro­vid­ing live music. A wood­en flute, a ukulele, and a mouth harp are only three of the instru­ments he uses. The cafe lights go out. The white glow from the milk fridge illu­mi­nates the counter. Neuhofer­o­va reap­pears with a giant inflat­able globe and the show prop­er starts.

It’s delight­ful and quirky. Tiny pup­pets act out the sto­ry which is based on her life. Cof­fee shop sta­ples — take­away cups, cuphold­ers etc — are pressed into ser­vice to help cre­ate the set­tings. There are some beau­ti­ful­ly clever moments which charm us. I’m sit­ting at the back of the audi­ence which means I can’t always see. I notice the sounds. There are shouts of laugh­ter. The occa­sion­al woosh-BANG of the wind com­ing in the front door. A low rum­ble from the air-con­di­tion­ing unit. The pup­pets dis­ap­pear and we are now in the real world of the cof­fee shop. Take­away cups are cups again. Famil­iar sen­tences are exchanged. Hel­lo. How was your week­end. Flat White. Two sug­ars. The scene becomes a dance piece. Neuhofer­o­va dis­ap­pears. Then she reap­pears and the cof­fee shop day starts again.