Shoo-bi--dooo- wah!!
It was a night of song and lots of humming...
This is going to be THE place for lost Sundays and I can't wait for the no smoking laws...HOOH BLOODY RAH RAH RAH.
I didn't have a latte but saw one being served. Full of froth it t'was. It left a little moustache on its customer.
'Lovely', I thought.
We were sitting in the basement listening to stripy-cowl-necked-horizontal-jumper lady - singing songs that she said we would know...but we didn't. I was hoping for a bit of 'Ag a dooh' but instead we got some 'Shoobidoowa - dibbi-dibbi dooh'. Her dulcet tones reminded me of the tonal Victoria Wood - even with a tad of Manchester - even though our friend was, methinks, from somewhere like France.
The bloke on the key board, who sported a bit of facial hair, had extraordinary large hands and his span was really impressive!!!!
The trumpeter really could have ironed his shirt. It doesn't even get a shabby chic criteria. I later found out that he just picked it out of his dirty linen basket.
I had a real urge to go home to get my iron and start pressing his shirt with a bit of good old fashioned starch. I think I once saw a play, in Edinburgh, where exactly that happened...or maybe I dreamt it.
All in all...a hideaway is exactly what this place is and it's lovely.
They make stonebaked pizzas, serve olives, a good range of wines, and this just might be the place where you don't bump into the usual high pitched 'HI HOW ARE YOUUUUUUUUUUU?' brigade.
6 comments:
well don't bloody go and tell everyone then!
everyone? er...i think that maybe half a person reads this so I doubt 'everyone' will know abt it.
aye, but you've gotta believe
whatever
i've been to the hideyhole and i LOVE it. top place for top people.
oh and who are you calling halfaperson?
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