So, here I am, sitting in my favourite coffee shop. On the table beside my open laptop stand two cold, empty coffee cups. I have been here for hours and yet, nothing! On the screen is an open page, but it is blank. Not one single word. The thing is, I always write my best stories here. Even a novel began here, but today? Nothing. A blank page and a blank mind.

“Would you like another coffee, Ma'am?”

I looked up at the young man with the green apron and sighed.

“I suppose I had better,” I replied. “Nothing is working today. Could you put an extra shot in it, please? Perhaps that will help.”

He smiled and placed the empties into the bowl he was carrying. After giving the table a quick wipe, he was gone.

Moments later, I heard a commotion coming from the direction of the service counter.

When I looked up, I saw the young man who, moments before, had offered to bring me another coffee. He looked terrified and was leaning hard against the back wall of the serving area.

At the end of the counter was another young man. Shorter than the Barista and scruffy, in grubby Parka and Jeans.

I couldn't see his face because of the fur-lined hood but, what I could see was what appeared to be, a gun! He was pointing it directly at the young man, MY young man!

There were two other staff behind the counter, both young women. They were in clear view of the attacker, and they too were terrified.

Apart from myself, there were very few customers in the shop. None of them were near enough to tackle him.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. This wasn't Hollywood! This was England! And not just any part of England, but a small village in the heart of the Pennines! Brontë country!

I looked out of the large window to the cobbled street outside. There were the usual cars parked along the road, but one caught my eye, a dirty black Volkswagen Golf. It struck me because there was a faint wisp of smoke from the exhaust pipe of the twenty-plus year old car, which meant that the engine was still running. I couldn't see who was in it because of the blacked-out windows, but I made a note of the registration number, just in case.

I looked back towards the counter. The assailant was moving behind it now, slowly shepherding the fearful youngsters towards the end wall. All the time pointing the pistol directly at them.

Suddenly, he shouted.

“Where's the money? Open the till!”

“We... we don't ha... have one...”

The young woman who spoke was shaking violently, the fear of being killed getting the better of her.

“Don't lie to me!” the assailant shouted, “Everyone has money! Open the till now or I shoot one of you!”

A white haired gentleman then spoke up. He was sitting at the table nearest to the counter.

“She's telling the truth, young man. There is no bank here any more, so they only take card payments.”

The robber looked around at the few people in the shop. No one moved, no one spoke.

I still couldn't see his face, he was wearing a balaclava.

Slowly, he walked towards the elderly gentleman.

“Fine!” he hissed. “I'll take yours then!”

The old man shrugged.

“I don't have any either. I pay for everything with a card.”

The intruder slammed his hand on the table, causing a cup to jump and fall to the floor with a loud crash.

“Someone must have cash!” He pointed the gun at the old man's head. “Empty your pockets or he gets it!”

Still no-one moved.

The bandit was visibly shaking with anger, or maybe with fear as he looked at each of the customers. Then he noticed me.

“That laptop's got to be worth something, give it to me!”

I shook my head.

“No, it isn't worth much. It is quite old now, but it works for me.”

The only part of his face that I could see was his eyes. I saw that they were a vivid blue colour and his pupils were dilated. I guessed that he was some kind of illicit drug user.

“However, there is one thing you might be interested in.”

His eyes narrowed.

“One thing that I find useful with this laptop is that it can use my phone as a Wi-Fi source, you know, a personal hotspot?”

He tilted his head, suddenly unsure of himself. Nevertheless, he looked at the table, specifically at my phone sitting conveniently beside the laptop.

“I have been recording what you have been doing and that has been relayed to my PC at home. Now, if you have even the slightest bit of sense, you will take your toy gun and get out of here, before the Police arrive!”

He looked around again at the faces which were now staring back at him.

Suddenly, he dropped the gun, which fell onto the tiled floor and broke into several pieces of plastic, and ran out through the door. Seconds later, the Volkswagen screeched away in a cloud of diesel smoke.

“Would you like another coffee, ma'am?”

I looked up at the young man with the green apron.

“Yes, please,” I said with a smile. “My writers block seems to have vanished. “Amazing what a little extra caffeine, and peace and quiet can do, isn't it?”

He smiled.

“You certainly seemed to have written quite a bit since that last cup.”