by Rowan Hunter
My memories Al’s bar will definitely be filed away in the “severely misspent youth” portion of my brain, yet it is still with great sadness that I heard the news that it has closed. Rocking up there at 5am, ordering food and drink, yelling at people, swatting off prostitutes, befriending prostitutes, beating prostitutes (at pool.) There was something of the Wild West about Al’s bar, and I guess it’ll be missed. I present to you, my short tribute to that ridiculous place.
Ode to Al’s Bar
I had heard the tall tales of the old pub,
And first entered as a green, fresh faced fool,
Seduced by alcohol and dirt cheap grub,
A well baked rasta kicked my arse at pool.
That’s inappropriate, please refrain ma’am,
I’m just a drunk, lost, confused British boy,
It’s not wanted but you don’t give a damn,
In sleepy London town the girls are coy.
We’ll take two beers, two burgers and ten joints,
We’re living the life, and part of the myth,
This ramshackle bar never disappoints,
The sun comes out, home for a bargain spliff?
The grimy ass bar, closed down, what a shame,
Where the staff and the hookers, knew my name.
(oh and this is definitely in the form of a Shakespearian sonnet, in case anybody cared)