Troubadour

Brian and I having a lazy Saturday at home. His expressed intention was not to leave the house all day and he’s done well. I briefly went out under the autumn sun and stopped by The Troubadour in Earls Court. I first went there aged about 19 when my mate Mellie was staying with Lottie up the road. Mellie was a model and a Christian, two things we had in common at the time. I actually can’t remember how we met, but it was one of those friendships where we occasionally kissed each others mates but never each other. As a result we are still friends now, as much as I’m able to hold down any friendships these days with all the jobs eating my head. Mellie is an artist now and still pursuing performance work.

Back then, as now, Chelsea wasn’t the right place for Bohemian hanging out, but Earl’s Court was excellent, right at the centre of one of the queer scenes at the time. Lots of cheap good eateries for dates picked up at The Coleherne. A great drama school just down the road, Webber Douglas, and a friendly pub theatre nearby – The Finborough. The Trobadour was and is right on the main drag. It has a downstairs performance space which has hosted stars as much as scratch comedy nights. It’s a place with personality. I’ve been there when a friend had her pet frog out and it was climbing the walls. They serve coffee, used to be artisan before the hipsters came. Bucket of brown sugar. They also have fine wines if you’re the type. Daytime wake-up, evening slapdown. We sat in the window and had a pot of Dale’s Hangover Tea despite no hangover. I helped a friend with some lines. It’s much easier and nicer with two.

It’s nice to find somewhere in London that is so unchanged. The door is memorable, a crafted heavy wooden one. It is clearly still well frequented. Groups getting drunk in the back, about ten musicians came in and out with instruments while we were there, people in front having coffee, really personable staff members. Is it getting old when you seek the places that make you feel young? It reminded me of the possibilities of those dreamy days of late teens. I’m not drinking at the moment and in London in the evening on a Saturday you’re hard put to find a place where you can sit and have something and not feel like you’re the only sober in the village.