At this moment in time, I am sat in a pub called “Ye Olde Swiss Cottage”, situated in Swiss Cottage just North in London. It’s an old-fashioned, mustard-yellow, hanging basket affair with dark rafters, decorated with countless drawings and watercolours of horses and historical monarchy figure-heads and aristocracy. The miss-match eclectic furniture warms the welcome of any bedraggled customer and it took me all of five seconds to discern the upholstery sea and distinguish the comfiest corner.
I went up to the bar to buy a drink, but it appeared to be void of serving staff. So, instead, I awkwardly stood there, with a handful of men playing darts, a man reading a paper and an old man clutching his untouched beer.
“BAN’ AN’NA CAHNTAH!” he shouted at me, frightening me out of my wits.
“BAN’ AN’NA CAAAHNTAH!” he repeated. It took me some time but I managed to work out what he was saying and when I did, I politely replied -
“Oh, no, no I’d feel really rude”
“Na, na, is’ woh y’do” and with that he slammed his clammy hand on the table and began rapping on the counter with his severe knuckles and almost immediately a barmaid arrived. We both laughed, me high pitched and light, his raging and coarse.
I retired back to my cosy sanctuary and began writing.
The reason that I am even in London today is because I was going to attend an open day in Central School of Speech and Drama , but they made an error with my reservation. I am gutted seeings as I travelled two and a half hours on the train and that isn’t including the amount of time I got lost in Southwark tube station.
Haha, I’d just like to take this oppurtunity to briefly mention the comedy happening in front of me. There is an elderly Chinese couple trying to explain to an Eastern European waitress that they don’t want chips with the fish pie. It should genuinely be a comedy sketch, I wish I could film it, it’s just so funny. Both parties have absolutely no idea what the other is saying and so instead of trying to work it out, they are just saying the same things over and over again, only in louder voices. It’s a mission to disguise my laughter. On the subject of neighbouring customers, opposite there is a man I vaguely recognise from the television somewhere. Behind him, there is a man and a woman who have been talking in carrying voices about all manner of conversational topics ranging from the Wall Street Crash, to the scampi in Wetherspoons, condom efficiency and American elections.
“It’s a great build up” she is saying “but then boring when it’s all over”. I’m not sure as to what she was referring to there though.
I keep looking around wondering if it was at all like this when my dad worked here. Is this the same carpet, maroon with burnt orange thin, weaving vines, dashed with green and outlined in black? Did he ever have to roll up his terrible tie-dyed sleeves and polish the wooden panelling fixed to the walls? Were those paintings here then? Is he as immune to their beauty as I am immune to the “art” displayed in the Atlantic Hotel? How about the heavy curtains? Detailed with old-fashioned red and blue striped tents which people used to get changed in down the beach back in the day. The list goes on and on, and I’m begining to attract looks as I am constantly staring around. Or is it perhaps because I am trying to desperately conceal my noisy sandwiches down in my lap?
This last week has been full of disappointment. From minor, such as Sam not turning up to the scheduled rehearsal, to major of being told I can’t see Dan this week and not getting my deeply desired role in the show. It hasn’t exactly been peaceful at home, my Mum’s father died and the funeral is today, so I’m glad to be out of the house, to say the least. This morning everyone was so highly strung and my “goodbye” could barely be heard over the screaming din of my mother and brother fighting over what he was going to wear. I considered it a blessing to be leaving.
I’ve been sat in this chair for almost two hours and I was so wrapped up in my own little bubble, writing and sending the occasional text, that I have completely forgotten that there is a world outside this small pub, until right then when I was rudely awoken by aggressive traffic beeping their over-used horns.
I think I’m going to read some more, then go to the Tate Modern. This day is now my own, and it’s a great feeling. I can do whatever I want to, without any obligations.
Oh, and it’s raining out. I love the rain.
S.E.M
