***
The banner hung down across the room.
It was black, adorned with mystic symbols, a secret society perhaps. Most prominently, three prawns, to symbolize the crustaciousness of the deep dark oceans, or what?
A few Nazis were green, you know? Calling for a purer, organic existence? There were naturists too in pre-war Germany, but they were not often Nazis. Nazis didn’t approve of any form of liberalism. Did nudists furtively flap their shrimp-like bits around in the open air, running behind swastika-banners when the jack-booted blackshirts came stomping around the corner.
Were Nazi’s in any way kinky? What exactly did Adolf get up to with Eva in the Berghof?
Hitler was a vegetarian! Trump doesn’t drink. What to make of a genocider who would never nibble on a prawn, or an orange man who dismembers democracy, but couldn’t murder a G&T?
Three prawns, the banner, hung down, waiting. For a cause. For me: a nudist, not fascist, teetotal, vegetarian ecologist!
***
The cellar door hasn’t been opened since 2018, when the previous owner, André, closed it after creeping out once the bailiffs were gone. He took off his red apron, and turned the sign on the main door, one last time, to CLOSED. The restaurant stood empty for some months, as the owners negotiated first with the tax authorities and then with the enterprising new proprietor. André disappeared (perhaps the better word is “absconded”), aided by Covid restrictions. The new proprietor knocked down a couple of walls and put in a new bar. The architects said there was no need to touch the old cellar, so no one did. There’s a very good chance that André’s red apron still hangs on the back of the door.
***
Panelled wood-wood squares cut in fours.
Two of the triangles darkened making Dicky bow shape all over the walls
Designed to give a 3D effect.
Says this place has depth. Somehow the thorn carpet and
The broken light speaks to the 20-something
The raggy worm feel is attractive to them.
If it was indeed owned by an old
Publican who’d run out of money and lost
The will to spruce it up, you’d say OK
But it’s been staged dressed by a canny
Business man our age, to fool these youngsters yet again.
***
Perspective
As it should be
As it should be two men are sitting facing their wife/girlfriend/mistress
One young
One old
They both chew while their partner talks
And they chew and they talk
One is old and bored with the talking
He shoves off his phone while his partner
ignores him and looks out the window
The younger guy chews and she talks back.
That is the difference.
50 years of talking chewing and listening turned to ignoring
At another table a group of young people laugh … out loud . As they should
It doesn’t matter if it’s funny or relevant.
They follow cues
The social cues of the genZes or millennials
Different groups, different cues
The mirror on the wall opposite the couples shows the industrial lamps
strategically placed to illuminate the crowd of young and old
each stuck in their lives and codes
***
Looking out at Le Coq from this angle I am haunted by the ghosts of the Old Regence, the residence of the BBW circa 2010 or thereabouts. I'm having trouble picturing what it was like back then, but it was, by memory, a kind of tacky and shabby resto. What I remember in particular is the place’s worn carpeting. And that they made a pretty damn fine dish of boulettes. I can picture an older couple, in their 70s or 80s, who would have their dinner there, every single time we were in session, it seemed. I used to imagine that thus was their big night out on the town. I can also see the spirits of BWW past - the two Johns, and Cleve, of course, who have left us. Looking out now I see a sea of younger faces. The Old Regence has been transformed .... What is it about this space that makes it work?
***
She hung, a river of jealousy, begging the question: what was she hiding? My fingers, bent sinister holding my gold brew, longed to caress her, tender, mocking gibes as I slowly peeled her back, revealing nothing but an empty promise.
So often I've called to this fantasy, an empty place, drunk vapor of idiocy behind, to open a door that was only in my mind. This time, I'll instead sit silent, staring sheepishly, saying nothing and gritting my teeth as I let her keep her secrets.