THE ability to make the perfect cup of coffee. This is a skill few realise the importance of and even less possess.

I remember being lovingly woken by a former girlfriend in the early stages of our relationship with a cup of my favourite brew. I warmed my hands around the mug, awaiting that first delicious sip that sends caffeine shooting through your body.

I started spluttering and choking on the foul liquid she had served up.

She seemed concerned but I brushed her aside, anxious to discover what terrible substance had crept into her kitchen and tried to pass itself off as coffee.

My heart fell as I saw the economy instant granules and powdered milk on the side as I knew it could never work out.

I’m not averse to the occasional high-quality instant but, given the choice, I would always favour a freshly ground bean and recently sampled my favourite Jamaican Blue Mountain on a visit to Seattle, which proudly calls itself the home of the coffee shop.

Having immersed myself in beany goodness, I was determined not to fall back into bad drinking habits.

Thankfully, a series of new and fantastic coffee shops are springing up in Eastleigh so I headed to one of the most recent editions – Coffee Republic, part of the new cafe, bar and bistro complex featured in the Loft and Break Bar at the Swan Centre.

Resident barista Hayley Chick talked me through the intricacies of coffee-making.

I watched as she ground beans into little 14-gram piles and put four shots of this into my cup for my usual ultra-strong Americano.

I sipped and sighed, the caffeine rush and wonderful taste more than making up for the slight burn I had just received by not waiting for it to cool and drinking near-boiling liquid.

What message did this drink send about me I wondered? Probably that I am an angry coffee drinker, and possibly a disturbed loner.

My new coffee master assured me this was a mature drink that is often the choice of the connoisseur.

Next, I tried my hand at a latte.

This is not my favourite coffee and I’ve always suspected those who order it are the kind of limp-wristed pansies who would secretly rather be drinking tea.

Similarly, I’ve always thought those who like mocha would be happier with a glass of Nesquik if only it was socially acceptable.

Hayley checked the temperature was a toasty 160F and served up a cappuccino.

I was delighted that, unlike some shysters, she had put in enough liquid and not tried to palm me off with a cup of foamy milk.

Next I moved on to espresso – coffee in its purest form.

The only reason I favour the Americano is I go through espressos so quickly.

I would love to order this trendy drink in fashionable cosmopolitan cafes with intellectual types whose poems will probably become famous years after they die in poverty.

Hayley pointed to the iced option and a variety of syrups. I opted for one final drink – two shots of coffee, with cream, a splash of vanilla syrup, topped off with foam, whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles.

Yes, I thought, this will be the coffee I will use for future romantic endeavours.