[View from the top deck of a passing bus - thoughts of a local passenger]
Oh…Rachel’s old Caff’s been bought! How exciting! I could pop by there with Frank at the weekend.
Wonder when it opens?
Well, the shutters are up. Can’t be long now. ‘Sturgess Café’, hmm it’s got a name.
I wonder if they do outside catering? We’ve got that wedding coming up. If I see a number I’ll give them a call – or get Sandra to do it.
Ah, I can see inside now. There’s someone in there. I can see a few plates left out, on the tables. Mucky as far as I’m concerned! They should employ more staff. I wonder if young Julian could ask them if they have any vacancies, now he’s off from college?
Still, it’s only just opened. Then again, I’ve never actually seen the place open.
No one I know has ever been in there. We have tried! All sorts of times of the day!
I mean, it’s 11am now, I catch different buses on different days, different times of the day.
It’s not as if they only open at lunchtimes. I know Gilbert went past yesterday afternoon and it still wasn’t open (although I go past at different times, I don’t come back until 5pm).
Gilbert said that the sign in the door said something about ‘family problems’. Like a bloomin’ soap opera, I shouldn’t wonder!
I was really annoyed yesterday. Got off the bus near the Sturgess Café to find out about outside catering - Sandra hasn’t had time to ring - and I fanicied meeting up with Renee from the Library. She sent me a text message the other day, told me about the problems she was having with Timothy.
Anyway, the Café wasn’t open. We were stood there, outside in the freezing wind (it really whips round those tower-blocks on the Dogley Estate). Renee turned to light her fag out of the wind and noticed a note on the door. Really small lettering it had: “Watch This Space” it said.
“Watch This Space” said Renee through a cloud of smoke, “Watch This flamin’ Space,” she repeated (adding the expletive), her lungs erupting in a cackle of coughing, “what space?”
“I don’t know, I really don’t know,” I said, shaking my head and clutching my Daily Mail until the paper crinkled, “what is the world coming to?”
In the end we both popped into the Chinese chippy a couple of doors away. Lee’s got a few chairs opposite the counter. Had a Chinese tea (that weak stuff in a big pot) and a portion of chips each with a spring roll.
There’s a young man with a shaven head kicking the door of Sturgess Café. And I must say, I don’t blame him!
[Time passes, not much changes]
We don’t talk about it anymore.
The Sturgess Café. We don’t talk about it anymore.
And it must be open some of the time, I mean, the shutters open and close. Lights on, then off. There’s even food left on the table. The menu changes and there’s these strange notices on the door.
I wish life wasn’t so complicated these days.