Seventy

Day SEVENTY:  European Memories Series #2

That Fascist Bookstore, Tea Shop, Pub and Tesco

The rain today has reminded me of this one afternoon in London.  I am going to venture to say that it was a Thursday early in the semester before we had Tea dates at Drink, Shop, Do and when I would go alone before going back to our place for dinner.  I remember going down my favourite local street to our place and popping in to the small bookshop next to Drink Shop Do to get out of the rain before getting a tea.  I had four pounds in my pocket in change, and I went back to the local poetry section and picked up a few small chap books. 

That is my favourite way to pick up poetry just to randomly choose nice covers, nice sounding names, interesting, intriguing names.  So I picked those up, and as the title of this post states it was a very subtle but Fascit store, and it was very adorable and cluttered and quiet, and I loved oing in there.  This moment has settled into my mind as one of those days that I just felt like being alone and thinking my own thoughts in this city.

After the store I headed to tea, and then to Tesco to pick up most likely oatmeal, Pringles and peppers.  It’s the way Tesco went (not a lot of meat…even then…) and then back home.  It seems really uninteresting now looking back I wonder why I chose this moment.  I can’t remember what I was thinking, but I think I enjoyed this afternoon because it was one of those times where I was actually separate from the people I had gone with within the city.

I had a lovely room mate who don’t get me wrong I love dearly, but we were together every moment when we were home, so I took little jaunts around the city alone just to get out and about.  That’s a huge step for me, I hardly do this at home and it has inspired me to take time by myself around the city and campus here in Canada because it is important to experience things alone. 

I miss this street I’ve been pondering so much.  It is a one-way, and the light is always ready to cross, and there are tons of bus stops and small shops.  There is this little pub that we went to a few times, it had good music till about eleven.  I miss how it was so open on the side walk and how busy Tesco got whenever students were left out.  I miss the cheery Jamaican cashier that always neglected to help me bag anything, and I miss the sweeties and clotted cream that isn’t sold here.  I miss Drink Shop Do, and every single memory I had in that building.  I miss the tea pots, and the table, and the servers (because more often than not it was that attractive one that always smiled a lot) and the lights and music and the bathrooms, and the stairs that went upstairs and the flowers on every table.  I miss the bookshop that was doing renovations with the attractive carrier that one day and I spent an hour looking at the different Fascist theatrical texts just so I could be in there.  I think this post is more of a homage to that street and the irreplaceable and undying love I feel for it. 

I think I miss it the most because those places seemed to really be “my” place in London.  Yeah, I brought the ladies and AJ and my parents, and Tesco could never just be mine, but I spent a whole helluva lot of time there, I knew it well, I could walk it in the dark alone and half drunk (forgetting that time I fell while crossing, but always remember that four minute Pringles run with Maya). 

It hurts my chest to think about these places, because they hold so much meaning for me now. Independence?  Sincerity?  Comfort?  Everything.  If anything these places have inspired my will to continue doing the things I love no matter how comfortable or un=varietable they become.   See you soon.

X