Wednesday, 29 February 2012

200words: gilbert scott bar

"Say not, 'Why were the former days better than these?' For it is not from wisdom that you ask this." Ecclesiastes 7v10

Come, Jägerbombs. Come drown this out.
Steam age, steam punk, post punk, what now?
Absolve this bar, it knows not how,
To rightly mix.

Come spirits, cast in blurry fuzz,
The faux stained steel and junctions of,
The scaffolded carbuncular,
Bottle rack bar.

Come cocktails, overpriced and sweet,
Obscure the hightech, quick-fix feat,
Of this revivalistic seat.
But comfy though.

Organic stout. £7 beer.
Lend me a Betjemanian ear,
To hear the ordinary here,
In poetry.

And after one more gin or two,
I'll populate Pancras with people true,
Not portraits through a rosy hue,
But real men.

Come drunk friends, and wreak revival,
Imagine this Victorianal.
Picture hard wrought stone and marble.
No plastic tat.

Come Jägerbombs. Come just once more.
Help me through the revolving door.
Help me forget the night before.
The piped music.

But spare our preppy bar attender,
Ignorant with no agenda,
An architectural bystander,
Who likes to dance,

'And talk of sport and makes of cars
In various bogus-Tudor bars
And daren't look up and see the stars
But belch instead.'

with thanks to Betjeman's Slough

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