Sunday 28 August 2016

Earlsfield

Last week to Earlsfield for lunch, that is to say just about a week ago. A trip to town to see all the pretty people, with Earlsfield being better supplied with same than Epsom.

Wandered towards Tooting in the expectation that something suitable would turn up by the time that we got to the Leather Bottle, once a quite decent Young's pub, now an eatery. While, as it turned out, the first item of interest was a low flying four engine jet, a jet which appeared to be approaching Heathrow at a much lower angle than usual. Was something going on which meant that the usual approach path was not available? We will never know.

The Leather Bottle was home to a very cheerful Jamaican barmaid and a clutch of the sort of people who used to live in Earlsfield before the pretty people arrived and who probably used to use the nearby George IV, which once sported a sea food stall outside on Friday afternoons, lovers of dog racing and horse racing inside, but now a Tesco Express. We decided that we were not attracted by the rather ordinary pub-grub menu: fish & chips, sausage and mash (with fruity gravy all over the ensemble), something to do with duck, something to do with beef and so on. We thought that we would rather go to a Wetherspoons if that was what we were going to eat.

Their case was not helped by a large truck filled with ready meals pulling up outside, just as we arrived, for the weekly delivery of same: a tasteful and appetising medley of boil in the bag and microwave. Or perhaps it was a daily delivery.

So back to the Carluccio's just by Earlsfield station, where we were attended to by a very frisky young lady from somewhere in Europe. Great fun and very good at her work. At one point I caught her in a mirror, coming around a pillar and who, spotting a party who needed attention, got her face, posture and attitude looking right before bouncing smartly up to them. It only took a second or so, but it was amusing to catch her in the act. BH remembered such action from her days at Butlins.

Meal and wine good. Block of tiramisu factory made but good, not soggy, which for me is the main thing. That apart, nothing fancy and reasonable prices. There was some confusion about coffee, which was resolved by my saying that madam would take coffee from Milan as that was nearer than Naples. To which the waitress replied that she thought that sir did want another bottle of wine as it was Saturday and one let one's hair down a bit on Saturdays. I settled for a glass of pudding wine.

The restaurant seemed to be a destination for young families taking gran out for a treat, with one party of such having a long conversation about some aspect of caravan life. They were behind me so I cannot be sure, but perhaps they were another relic, like the chaps at the Leather Bottle, of the Earlsfield before the pretty people.

Back to the station to manage a couple of twos at the aeroplane game before our train came in. During our ride I told BH once again about the chap that I had once met in the Leather Bottle who played the game from the window of his tower block flat - from where he had a good line on planes going down into Gatwick. At the end of the ride we struck up with a small party of very highly dressed & made up young ladies - that is, lightly dressed but heavily made up. It seems that they had been to something called a morning rave, such a rave being distinguished by the unusual time of day and the absence of both alcohol & drugs. These last were mentioned in an entirely matter of fact way as the most normal thing in the world. From where I associate now to the stupidity of our drug laws.

PS: the illustration being of the garden furniture out front at the Leather Bottle. Rocks in cages being, it seems, the latest thing. Dearer than chunky wood I should imagine. I remember what there was there before, all parasols and bamboo. I also remember taking a Sunday afternoon cigar among said parasols and bamboo, after having heard an entertaining, if not particularly instructive, talk by one Simon Russell Beale. One of the several occasions when I have been to a celebrity talk where the celebrity in question can't be bothered to talk to the text supplied, finding it much simpler just to trot out his or her standard talk, very lightly edited.

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