Up the Smoke last night to see the son gigging with The Blondettes (a band he started up pre Ed Fest, now going strong) and also playing cello alongside The Massive Violins. Fabulous. Sheer uplift. They were playing in a cellar underneath a Hackney pub. Before the show we looked for somewhere to eat in Hackney Road and found a cafe that did a passable shepherd's pie. Smother something like this in Bisto gravy and you can't go far wrong. Anyway, we chose it over the place across the road as Mr. Signs reckoned that anywhere serving both pizza and doner kebabs should be avoided, and I didn't care as long as I ate soon and avoided a blood sugar crash.
If you click you might see the ghost of me in the window.
They had a list of Baverages (yes I know, but that is how they spelled it so no point in arguing). I had tea.
As we left I had a notion that there was something Hopperesque about this. The light isn't quite right, but the lone man there is - and the shadow.
I've actually added a couple of new labels. Ever the optimist, I want more of both.
6 comments:
There was a Dunkin Donuts with this feel, downtown Boston. Isolated and strange at night.
a series of cafe pieces/ photos has commenced.... even if occasional... nice. And happy about the happy. Music is so good for that.
I do like cafes so it might happen :)
I have to say I, too, love photos of what might be termed inconsequential milieus, just places where people go, which they see, which have meaning to those people (only?); the meaning seems to linger like an invisible veil of possible stories on the blank space of the milieu.
Ahem. I know what I mean to say, but have a feeling I'm articulating it simply terribly. But listen. Happy is good. Happy is the new black, the new cool. Praise be to happy, to the increase of the sum total of cosmic happy – for verily even if physicists say this increase cannot be done, that the quantity of cosmic shit forever remains a constant, I'll wage a war against that and die trying to prove them wrong.
I mean, you know. I think it's worth going for happy, even though/if one is inherently sad. You do see what I mean, I feel certain of that.
x
I think I know what you are saying. And we are both Paul Auster fans, if I remember rightly. There is an urge to merge, lemming-like - just become someone who might go there every day, for no reason I could identify.
One can only really go for happy if one is inherently sad - probably or perhaps.
"One can only really go for happy if one is inherently sad" –
– now that's what I call poetry. And truth. So hear hear.
x
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