Strolling down Harborne High Street in 2026 feels a bit like a scene from Scooby Doo — your feet keep moving while charity shop, cafe, charity shop, cafe form the ever-rotating backdrop.
Among these familiar rhythms, the residents radiate undeniable Main Character Energy — impeccably dressed, driving fancy cars, living in charming homes. Against this energetic setting, one spot truly stands out: Paul at No 41, an independent coffee shop that excels not just in product but in personal connection.
The service here is far from ordinary; it strikes a perfect balance between professional and warm, without ever veering into overfamiliarity. Paul Gilbert, the welcoming barista and owner, serves up not just expertly crafted coffee but also individual cakes — like the zingy lemon and pistachio treat from his mother’s recipe that I savoured, complete with a friendly “that’s my mom’s recipe” nod.
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As I sip my latte and wait for Paul to join, I watch a lively table of regulars—three friends, including a vibrant 90-year-old with striking blue hair—sharing laughter and sunglasses indoors. I’m eager to join them.
Paul shares his journey: opening this cozy café six and a half years ago, born and bred in nearby Selly Oak but finding a home here in Harborne. Over the years, he’s built friendships with many local retirees who drop in for weekly chats. During the isolating days of Covid, Paul went the extra mile—delivering coffee orders personally to his loyal customers, a gesture born from genuine care, even though it cost him financially.
“It was a struggle,” he admits about those tough years. “I had to take a bounceback loan, and I’m only just about to pay it off. I could have easily gone under… but I kept it together.”
When I ask what drives him, especially in a street crowded with coffee chains, Paul is clear: it’s the personal touch. “I want to feel proud walking down the High Street. That’s why I put my name above the door.”
With a background ranging from McDonald’s to Chiquito’s — where he learned hospitality from a popular section manager named Mario — Paul knows what good service means. Today, he works alongside Lee Seeney, who helps manage the bustling café floor while Paul multitasks between kitchen and customers.
Does the arrival of new chains spook his business? “Initially, yes—people want to try something new. But then they come back and tell me our place is nicer. No huge queues, cozy atmosphere, and fantastic relationships.”
Paul gestures toward the friends’ table, explaining how strangers who once came alone gradually formed a close-knit group. “Everyone has a life you don’t know. I thrive on busy times but get down during quiet spells, which happen more often than you’d think.”
Like everyone in 2026, Paul juggles the realities of rising costs. “The electric bill has doubled, and prices only go so far for my pensioner customers. I could increase prices, but that might shut some people out—and their visits mean more to me.”
Finally, Paul introduces me to the trio: Pauline, 77; David, 80; and Gillian, 90, the blue-haired legend. Meeting here twice a week has become their ritual. Their reasons for returning? “He pays us!” jokes David, eliciting laughter.
Pauline smiles, “It’s not too big, it’s friendly, and the coffee is nice.” Gillian adds, “The new place down the road is dark. This is just a nicer spot. Paul always greets us by name.”
They reminisce about other shops closing but emphasize that here, with Paul and Lee, it’s about genuine connection—not just coffee. “You come in and have a natter. You can’t get that everywhere,” says Pauline.
As I leave, a chorus of friendly voices bid me farewell—five instead of the one I was greeted with. Harborne may be full of stars, but here, Paul’s light shines a little brighter.