Cafe Crashview

Here in the window of my café all is peaceful - Until wallop!
A silver van crashes up on the pavement in front of me, through the glass.
It judders to a halt and takes out a cash machine sign.
Inside is a 65 year old woman wearing a white wooly hat. She looks shocked.
Next I notice a flashing blue light behind the van.
My brain puts 2 and 2 together. Maybe the police car had been following her.
Had she panicked and pulled over recklessly, or did the police just happen to be here and spun around in pursuit?

Before she could get out of the vehicle, one of the blonde women traffic police was there holding her driver’s door and removing her car keys.
The driver smiled nervously as the second policewoman arrived with an enormous set of handcuffs jangling from her belt.
The police seemed to be assessing if the driver was drunk or simply inept.
They took details. Heads were shaken. Phonecalls were made.

No harm done it seems. It was lucky that there was no one on the pavement.
In the end, the police car drove off with the van driving following them. I think the driver had damaged a tyre as she bumped up on the kerb.
Maybe she was being led to a tyre garage.
Maybe she was a ‘would be ram raider'......
Maybe I should drink less coffee.

Sylvia Murphy and chips

I’m told it’s the best fish supper in town….
‘Never had Montpelciano in a chippie before.
(Can’t spell it even)
On my left is a bloke in clothes that Elton John would be proud of - complete with spangled glasses.
Sitting opposite him is ‘dufflecoat man’. (Ooooh. Watch it.)
There’s a queue for fish and chips as long as your arm.
I can see why.
I have lucked into a different world.
I’ve gone back to a Friday night forty years ago.
My waitress, Silvia, Is straight from a Shepperton movie, with her kindly ‘Loves’ and ‘Darlins’.
Hopefully the recession is good for this timeless institution……
more smiling faces than I’ve seen in a restaurant for a long time.
Anxious man - on phone talks about his Mum in hospital, exchanges a constant flow of pleasantries with Silvia.
Lady - with a cap that she’s had since the sixties, goes through her texts and awaits her cod.
She holds her cheeks and wonders what I’m writing about.

Mark Knopfler in Dunkirk

Dear Mark,

I just had lunch in a restaurant in Dunkirk on my way to the Channel Tunnel. It was run by your French double.

He chatted up a pair of 40 plus dyed blondes until they giggled and wiggled. He deftly crouched down to table level and whispered outrageous things in their ears. He then ‘shimmied’ across the restaurant and even mimed playing guitar to a James Brown record!

His staff were oppressed and under-dressed. (If a little overfed.)

He had a two-faced smile and regularly went out for cigarettes.

The steak and chips weren’t any more exciting.

Hope you’re well,

Love,

John.

Broken Bus

Roll up, roll up, roll up, roll up
For the sordid broken bus
The train line’s dead
You’ve got this instead
But it sure ain’t down to us.
Baldies, coughing Yugoslavians
Air hostess with perfect nylons
Camp in glasses
Punk in hat
Almost sleeping almost sat

Back behind me angry couple
Haven’t spoken.. he’s in trouble
Roll on Brighton, roll on bed
Mr.Marples must be dead.

How to treat your muse.

Picasso seems to have had seven significant muses in his life, the majority of whom came to a sticky end.
It is sometimes overlooked that his last wife had him exclusively for the best part of forty years.
She did however, kill herself after his death.
Would contemporary society tolerate a Damien Hurst blatantly engaging in an affair with another woman, if his partner was dying of consumption?
In our PC world a Tracey Emin would surely be lauded for keeping a boyfriend on a lead.

Surreal's alright

So high up the mountain
So low for a moment
So full of impatience
So heavily laden
So near to the door
So sure that it’s closing
So tempted to panic
So damn well imposing.

So close to fulfilment
So far from elation
So on the right track but..
So far from the station
So aware of the pressure
So scared of the heights
So squeeze me so squeeze me
Surreal’s alright.

Language Limitation

At the brasserie I sit and listen to 3 or 4 conversations in French.
It’s a bit like being dumb.
I can understand the gist of what they’re saying, but I can’t join in.
Words are precious to me.
My ability to interact in French is so limited.
I am actually ashamed.

“How am I?”
“Well… I’m fine thank you.”
“What would I like for lunch?”
“A chef’s salad and a small red, please.”
“What is Sarah doing?”
“She is having lunch with her mother.”

That’s it for me ..... until later.

“How’s your food?”
“Fantastic.”
“Where are you going now?”
“I’m going up the mountain.”

But what a waste.
I can’t let anyone how I feel.
I can’t ridicule Sarkozy's political arrogance.
More importantly, I can’t explain how the glorious Mediterranean sunlight balancing upon the top of the bombed-out 'deco' hotel, makes me feel glad to be a human being.