Corinne Meghan
Mitglied
The Gastro is a little French coffee place, that is to say, it’s a restaurant, which is tucked away on the right hand side of Venn Street, in Clapham. Clapham of course is in South London.
The lady with the white poodle called Ms Albright lived just down the road. She knew because her friends had told her, that the Gastro would keep its doors open on Christmas this year: 8 am until midnight, in actual fact, until way after midnight.
She loved the little place, with wooden fish in nets hanging from the ceiling, the heavy square table at the back, and adjacent to the kitchen. One of the few places in London where one can buy a decent coffee.
They sell oysters, but I guess this is only for very special occasions, and marmalade with ‘Bon Maman’ written on the little labels.
She took her poodle, dressed up in a lacey dress, that had seen better days. She had made a real effort, and had stayed in the bathroom for at least an hour until her make-up and hair looked fit for a Christmas Eve.
She didn’t speak much French, but knew the odd French word, like ‘Bonjour’, ‘merci’ and ‘Voulez-vous couchez avec moi’?
Ms Albright worked as a librarian in the nearby library just situated by the Common. She was white, British, and single. However, one of these days, she had spotted a laddish-looking Italian gent in the Gastro, who read the papers, and who wore a hat.
He would greet her with the words ‘Buongiorno Signora!’, which she liked.
This time, it was already 10pm, he sat at the front with, what appeared to be a friend of his: ‘Buongiorno Signora!’ he said as she made her little entrance.
Her face lit up, and she decided to sit on the bench next to him – a small square wooden table in front of her. She ordered the usual: Moules with fries, and a medium white. – ‘and some water for the dog, please!’
The French waitress with long brown hair, a slim fit, served a cut-up French stick in a small basket.
‘Voila’.
‘Merci’.
‘I’m Antonio’, the gent said.
‘Kate’, Ms Albright said and smiled. She noticed that, without a hat on, he was bald.
‘Looks like we’re in for a Christmas together’, he said, and, to the waitress: ‘Same for me please, I’ll have the moules.’
She blushed, and the poodle started to bite Antonio’s sock, who didn’t seem to mind.
He noticed her Scent of ‘Chez amour’ and explained to his friend that he had seen Kate before, that they had bumped into each other, and that he liked reading the papers in the morning.
‘I teach Italian at the Westminster Education’ he said, and added ‘and Opera Appreciation’.
‘Oh, how interesting. I work at the local library, she retorted.
The moules arrived. – They relished. The portions were not to be sniffed at, and they were both starving.
‘Chin chin’, he said, and he noticed that her eyes were as dark as the sea.
‘Chin chin’, she said, lifting up her wine glass.
She ordered a Chocolate chaud after the main, he opted for a coffee noir.
She noticed at once, when he put his right hand on her left hand, in order to caress it. ‘Merry Christmas, Kate’, he whispered into her ear. ‘Merry Christmas!’ she said, and added ‘Bon Noel!’.
She paid for the meal and left a tip. ‘Well, I’ve got to be going, it’s getting on’, she said.
He replied ‘Au revoir, Kate!’ and remained seated, in order to talk to his friend until the early morning hours. He waved, as she departed.
The lady with the white poodle called Ms Albright lived just down the road. She knew because her friends had told her, that the Gastro would keep its doors open on Christmas this year: 8 am until midnight, in actual fact, until way after midnight.
She loved the little place, with wooden fish in nets hanging from the ceiling, the heavy square table at the back, and adjacent to the kitchen. One of the few places in London where one can buy a decent coffee.
They sell oysters, but I guess this is only for very special occasions, and marmalade with ‘Bon Maman’ written on the little labels.
She took her poodle, dressed up in a lacey dress, that had seen better days. She had made a real effort, and had stayed in the bathroom for at least an hour until her make-up and hair looked fit for a Christmas Eve.
She didn’t speak much French, but knew the odd French word, like ‘Bonjour’, ‘merci’ and ‘Voulez-vous couchez avec moi’?
Ms Albright worked as a librarian in the nearby library just situated by the Common. She was white, British, and single. However, one of these days, she had spotted a laddish-looking Italian gent in the Gastro, who read the papers, and who wore a hat.
He would greet her with the words ‘Buongiorno Signora!’, which she liked.
This time, it was already 10pm, he sat at the front with, what appeared to be a friend of his: ‘Buongiorno Signora!’ he said as she made her little entrance.
Her face lit up, and she decided to sit on the bench next to him – a small square wooden table in front of her. She ordered the usual: Moules with fries, and a medium white. – ‘and some water for the dog, please!’
The French waitress with long brown hair, a slim fit, served a cut-up French stick in a small basket.
‘Voila’.
‘Merci’.
‘I’m Antonio’, the gent said.
‘Kate’, Ms Albright said and smiled. She noticed that, without a hat on, he was bald.
‘Looks like we’re in for a Christmas together’, he said, and, to the waitress: ‘Same for me please, I’ll have the moules.’
She blushed, and the poodle started to bite Antonio’s sock, who didn’t seem to mind.
He noticed her Scent of ‘Chez amour’ and explained to his friend that he had seen Kate before, that they had bumped into each other, and that he liked reading the papers in the morning.
‘I teach Italian at the Westminster Education’ he said, and added ‘and Opera Appreciation’.
‘Oh, how interesting. I work at the local library, she retorted.
The moules arrived. – They relished. The portions were not to be sniffed at, and they were both starving.
‘Chin chin’, he said, and he noticed that her eyes were as dark as the sea.
‘Chin chin’, she said, lifting up her wine glass.
She ordered a Chocolate chaud after the main, he opted for a coffee noir.
She noticed at once, when he put his right hand on her left hand, in order to caress it. ‘Merry Christmas, Kate’, he whispered into her ear. ‘Merry Christmas!’ she said, and added ‘Bon Noel!’.
She paid for the meal and left a tip. ‘Well, I’ve got to be going, it’s getting on’, she said.
He replied ‘Au revoir, Kate!’ and remained seated, in order to talk to his friend until the early morning hours. He waved, as she departed.