you may have gathered from reading my musings that i like coffee.
you may also have gathered that i like drinking coffee in brick lane.
there i was the other night sitting outside the coffee shop sipping a strong latte and watching the world go by (well mainly watching the ladies go by). there is a strange feel to the place early sunday evening: the market is packing up and people are beginning to come out for their last party of the week. there is hustle and bustle in the air.
me? i was thinking of all the priorities (well panics) of the coming week, among them: what to order from amazon (which turned out to be as hard as working out the priorities).
the latte was good. the ladies even better. all was well with the world.
then a large range rover starts making awkward manoeuvres in an attempt to park. it is black with black tinted windows. the number plate is: music mx. oh dear, i thought and about this time i am hoping the range rover that jack bauer would drive has an accident and smashes into one of the cars nearby. no such luck.
there is something wanky about personal number plates, they seem to scream out 'i have an inadequacy complex so i want you to know that i am important'. they also say 'i have more money than sense and that is the only reason you think this is wanky as you want to spend this sort of cash on books from amazon' (shit that number plate inner dialogue as got me there).
i am not surprised by the number plate or the car. the area is one of hip music bars and happening bars, it is an area filled with bands, djs, promoters and producers. it is a popping place.
so as i continue to drink my coffee i have already developed a picture of the lads who are going to jump out of the car. they are going to be young, loud, baseball capped, hoodied, with low slung jeans (with some ugly design that runs part way down the leg and looks like an epileptic paint fit), they will be blinged up, and wearing hi top trainers (white) with the laces undone or timberland boots with the laces undone. they will be black or asian. one of them will be the one that the rest suck up to. see i know what is happening out there people.
i know.
so when the late middle-aged, early pensioner eases his way out of the car i admit defeat.
i know jack.
he is in the standard aged rock star get out. nice brown shoes, faded jeans, white shirt, dark blue blazer, with a small scarf around his neck. his hair is that horrid white, grey with hints of pale blonde in it, all topped off with too much hair gel. he is joined by his slightly dull wife and frumpy daughter.
they go get a beigel, of course they go into the famous one (friendly service says one review - maybe, if snarling counts as friendly) rather than the good one. a few minutes later they come out clutching their bags of single beigels. a trip down memory lane, a reconnection with the common man.
no wonder he has a personal number plate.
you may also have gathered that i like drinking coffee in brick lane.
there i was the other night sitting outside the coffee shop sipping a strong latte and watching the world go by (well mainly watching the ladies go by). there is a strange feel to the place early sunday evening: the market is packing up and people are beginning to come out for their last party of the week. there is hustle and bustle in the air.
me? i was thinking of all the priorities (well panics) of the coming week, among them: what to order from amazon (which turned out to be as hard as working out the priorities).
the latte was good. the ladies even better. all was well with the world.
then a large range rover starts making awkward manoeuvres in an attempt to park. it is black with black tinted windows. the number plate is: music mx. oh dear, i thought and about this time i am hoping the range rover that jack bauer would drive has an accident and smashes into one of the cars nearby. no such luck.
there is something wanky about personal number plates, they seem to scream out 'i have an inadequacy complex so i want you to know that i am important'. they also say 'i have more money than sense and that is the only reason you think this is wanky as you want to spend this sort of cash on books from amazon' (shit that number plate inner dialogue as got me there).
i am not surprised by the number plate or the car. the area is one of hip music bars and happening bars, it is an area filled with bands, djs, promoters and producers. it is a popping place.
so as i continue to drink my coffee i have already developed a picture of the lads who are going to jump out of the car. they are going to be young, loud, baseball capped, hoodied, with low slung jeans (with some ugly design that runs part way down the leg and looks like an epileptic paint fit), they will be blinged up, and wearing hi top trainers (white) with the laces undone or timberland boots with the laces undone. they will be black or asian. one of them will be the one that the rest suck up to. see i know what is happening out there people.
i know.
so when the late middle-aged, early pensioner eases his way out of the car i admit defeat.
i know jack.
he is in the standard aged rock star get out. nice brown shoes, faded jeans, white shirt, dark blue blazer, with a small scarf around his neck. his hair is that horrid white, grey with hints of pale blonde in it, all topped off with too much hair gel. he is joined by his slightly dull wife and frumpy daughter.
they go get a beigel, of course they go into the famous one (friendly service says one review - maybe, if snarling counts as friendly) rather than the good one. a few minutes later they come out clutching their bags of single beigels. a trip down memory lane, a reconnection with the common man.
no wonder he has a personal number plate.
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