I’m spending a bit of time in Claremont today – getting back to my roots and all that. I dropped off my car at Hannibal’s car wash and sauntered into Cavendish Square to find a little spot to write you something titillating; something completely different to what I am writing about now. I wandered around, looking for somewhere not too obvious and away from the madding crowds of suburbia. I knew exactly where to go – the restaurant where Scoozi’s used to be. It’s ALWAYS failed and it’s ALWAYS empty – no matter WHAT the name or who owns it. Perfect for a spot of work and some peace and quiet.
True as God, there it stood – as empty as a priest’s conscience.
Welcome to Mombasa Cafe!
Mombasa Cafe – you can hear crickets in the background
Not that I was going to judge them for being empty. The only waiter in the establishment welcomed me as I chose a seat, suggesting he brings me a lime and soda with the menu.
I opened up my divine little Sony Vaio laptop as the drink arrived.
My SHOCKING toasted chicken mayonnaise experience at the Kelvin Grove pool on Friday (where I chilled before getting ready to watch Rupert Mellor and the Thunderbirds in the Kelvin Grove ballroom) had left me yearning for a decent variation, so I gave my order to the waiter.
“Toasted chicken mayo on wholewheat please with chips. Please also bring some cheap white vinegar, Tabasco sauce and a Hansa.” (They didn’t have Jack Black).
“We don’t have Tabasco sauce,” came the reply.
“Chrrrrrist, are you fucking serious?”
“Yes Sir”
“Must I go and buy some for you?” I asked.
“Heh heh,” he laughed nervously. “Can we make you some fresh chilli?”
“Yes,” I said. “I won’t use it but I want you to make it as punishment.”
Off he went to put in the order, as I decided to write this article. The beer never arrived as our boy fucked off out of the restaurant for over 10 minutes. I kept an eye on the bar to see when the beer would appear so that I could fetch it myself.
Freak Show came back and I asked him how the beer was looking. “Oh shit” came the reply as he sprinted to the till, realising he had forgotten to put the beer order in. Bearing in mind that I was and STILL AM the only person in the restaurant. WHAT a fucking knob-end!
He brought the beer and the food which was fine, I suppose.
Whilst I was eating I heard a discussion between him and the barman where he mentioned, somewhat surprised, that La Scala and MOST of the other restaurants in Cavendish Square were full.
Yes, my love, they are full.
And I am still the only person in your restaurant.
I wonder why.
I’m not saying the reason is because you don’t have Tabasco sauce – but I’m quite sure it’s helping your quest for zero turnover.
Good bye.
