I had a pretty busy social life in the evenings during my week, meeting up with my friend Brian’s friend Florent for dinner that Monday at a restaurant called Little Bay on Farringdon Road. Yummy and cheap. We went back to his place for coffee where I got to meet the lovely Margaret and her daughter Kat while they made dinner, chatting over the big wooden kitchen table. Their slinky black cats Dante and Spike came to say hello and it was a lovely slice of the real London in a lovely Georgian home. Whenever I travel to another country or city I do my best to be the “non-tourist tourist” and so I always appreciate the “local tour” where the experience ends a bit deeper and more genuine even if it is still just that slice of daily life.
Florent thought I would enjoy his circle so I met up with him Tuesday after work at a place called The Poetry Place on Betterton Street in Covent Garden:
His friend Maya was working as barrista that night, so we sequestered ourselves away in the front corner while she brought us drinks and sat with us between customers:
The front counter:
Some people milling before closing:
And empty right before closing:
Florent:
Florent’s friends came and went during the evening and it was nice to see such a tight-knit social circle that had a central place they could meet up at during the week. Made me determined to find and do the same here in NY. As much as I like to orbit poetry scenes and cherish my outsider standing, it was nice to see different groups around the cafe: two women exchanging work and commenting on it for each other; a book group at a long table discussing their recent read; and an amateur, open mic night started downstairs in their space reserved for readings with lots of locals performing.
As the evening drew on and the white wine started flowing we attracted an escapee from the open mic night who elbowed her way into our circle when she heard us talking about bed bugs. She said her name was Capella, “like Acapella” and proceeded to pull some hastily written poem out of her pocket about insect control and the government which we politely listened to. I called her “Glitter Tits” as she had not only glitter eyeshadow on but glitter smeared all down her cleavage. I had brought a copy of Pear Slip for Florent and it was sitting out on the table. She picked it up and laughed and said “Doesn’t it look like a children’s book with the lettering?” and then she flipped it over and saw my picture on the back. “Oh, that’s you!” “Yes.” She quickly put it down and changed the subject and then eventually ditched us to hang out with the “poets” from downstairs. I found her an amusing character (even though she dissed my book jacket!).
Here’s a pic of Florent and his friend Paul Jeszke, who is a painter and plays the violin and cello:
And me, Florent and Paul:
We all got a little tipsy, and I looked up to find this lovely composition formed by the lamp hanging above me:
Up next…Shoreditch and more art…