Thursday, November 3/2016

Christmas songs and cheery red menu at Starbucks. To say nothing of disgustingly sweet candy flavoured coffees. Well, guess it's a matter of taste. They did wait until after Hallowe'en, though not Remembrance Day. Advent, of course, a forgotten concept.

Foray down Goldhawk Road in Shepherd's Bush. There's a stretch of the road that's home to a dozen or two fabric shops, most of which seem to be run by Sikhs. Plenty of attractive, sometimes exotic, material. But as usual I'm looking for black corduroy. Thin on the ground,and most of it with baby fine wale. One of the shop owners explains: heavy weight corduroy is bulky to ship and store - and then people buy teo, maybe three yards. Things are tough. The Chinese are charging more, more than Hong Kong. And Brexit? Of course - the pound is down 20%.

Side trip along Shepherd's Bush Market. It's pretty quiet, though maybe not for a week day. Feels a bit down on its luck, with as many vendors as purchasers. Most of it not high quality, and not underpriced either.  Souvenir mugs for £2 that sell for half that on Queensway. But back on Goldhawk Road we do find some corduroy that may serve the purpose.

Then back to Kilburn for supper. Thursday is kleftiko night at Roses, J's favourite. Roses is often home to elderly single men, but the one sitting next to us is a little beyond eccentric. He's not only talking to himself, he's as convincing as any actor in a one man play. Tonal variation, gestures and all - it's clear he can see a companion on the other side of the table. At times he seems, with a question, to want to draw us into the conversation, and we daren't make eye contact. As I whisper to J, it's not that I mind, but I wouldn't know what to say to "the other guy." There are other reasons for not looking, besides ingrained injunctions going back to childhood regarding the rudeness of staring. A quick glance reveals that his jaw seems to incorporate a defective spring: it drops farther than seems possible and looks like it will be unable to close again - though slowly and improbably it does.