Friday, 25 February 2011

Cheapo gone MADD

Saw this for myself tonight, already knowing it was inevitable, as I had seen, a few days after the last entry, signs of some kind of counter being put up in the Cheapo Cheapo Records space, but above is final proof. It has happened. The shop I loved, the place which sustained me through amateur and professional associations (oh, read the relevant entries, if you can be bothered to find them) is now ... "London's first mango-based dessert and coffee lounge."

Don't get me wrong: I endorse the consumption of fruit - at least in theory. And it's a  bold move to have an eaterie in the heart of London's West End. Who could have seen that coming? But will the customers be nourished as I was?

It has been open since 20th February - last Sunday, in fact. Maybe I'll visit it, walk inside, torture or reassure myself - or both - with thoughts of what once was. I wish the new establishment success - no, actually, I don't much care either way. The years will devour them too - which reminds me, if I may jump from Lear (King) to Belloc, of the lines:
When they married and gave in marriage
They danced at the County Ball
And some of them kept a carriage
And the flood destroyed them all.
Not quite sure how that translates to those who have elected to run a mango-based dessert and coffee lounge but trust me, it does. Or it will.

And before you ask, I have no idea of the appropriate punctuation for the above because, although the lines have resonated with me since childhood, I pasted the lines from a website.

I've had a look at the menu but don't particularly feel like advertising the website. You will be able to find it for yourself if you want. All I'm saying ...

 ... All I'm saying boils down to this. There are some of us, still, for whom "Berry Crunch" means a particularly poor specimen on the Pye International label.

And he seems to be, at least temporarily, too pooped to pop - indeed, the song, wretched as it is, now seems prophetic - but good on him for persisting, almost to the point of mania.

What you might call a Casey jones.

Alright, I'll stop now.

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