There are days in a café kitchen when the universe really tests your ability to keep a straight face. This was one of them. I was up to my elbows in brunch orders,  eggs flying, cakes cooling, customers fussing , when my colleague came storming past with a plunger. Yes, the toilet was blocked. Again. Because, of course, it was.

Spotting the Parka

And then it happened. I heard it first , that unmistakable voice. You know when someone opens their mouth and there’s just no mistaking who it is? My heart skipped a beat. I looked up, and out of the corner of my eye I clocked a big, fur-hooded parka. The hood was up so I couldn't see his face straight away, but I caught his profile as he was ordering , and instantly I knew. Liam. Bloody. Gallagher.

I had this surreal half-second where I scanned the whole room: all the staff, the person serving him, every single customer,  wondering if anyone else saw what I was seeing. Then I noticed his son and his beautiful girlfriend Debbie, also hovering near the counter. They weren’t bunched together, but close enough that it was obvious they were with him. It was one of those weird, slow-motion moments where everything feels both utterly ordinary and completely unreal.

At first I thought I was imagining it, but then I looked properly and there he was,  hood up, ordering coffees, totally casual. Completely unnoticed by every other soul in the room. The only other person who clocked it was one lone customer,  we locked eyes across the café in silent shock, like we were both living through the world’s strangest secret gig.

Cakes, Chaos, and a Toilet Crisis

He placed his order for take-out coffees, then started scanning the cake display like it was serious business. And fair enough , cake is serious business.

And just as I was trying to hold it together and not do a double take, my colleague emerged from the loo, plunger in hand, ready to blow. Fourth time that week the café toilet had been blocked, and she was on the edge of a full public meltdown.

Open-plan kitchen, customers watching everything, and Oasis royalty calmly hovering by the counter… while my colleague prepared to rant about the unspeakable horrors of plumbing. I locked eyes with that one other customer on my wavelength and silently mouthed: “Is that Liam Gallagher?”
He nodded, slight smirk, exactly the same “I can’t believe it either” face.

The Unexpected Compliment

Coffees ready, parka still up, he looked straight at me and said:
“Cakes look great… we might come back.”

I smiled, said thank you, and carried on like it was any other customer. Inside though, I was thinking: Did Liam Gallagher just casually rate my cakes while standing next to a blocked loo? Let’s be honest, if Liam Gallagher says your cakes look great, that’s a story you’re allowed to wheel out for the rest of your life.

Rock ’n’ Roll in the Cotswolds

I left soon after, so I’ll never know if he came back to that café. A little while later, he bought a house in the Cotswolds , about ten minutes from where I live. Which means, technically, Liam Gallagher was my neighbour for a while.

And honestly, I still can’t quite understand why no one else recognised him that day. The parka, the profile, the voice. Maybe it’s just a Gen X thing. We grew up with Oasis on repeat, and some things just lodge themselves so deep you can spot them a mile away.

It’s funny how baking draws in everyone,  from locals with their regular orders to famous faces just looking for something sweet. Moments like this remind me why I love what I do: cakes have a way of levelling the playing field. No matter who you are, whether a neighbour or Liam Gallagher himself, there’s nothing more human than pausing to choose a slice.