Pat’s Place

I’m feeling somewhat peckish at the moment, and could well do with popping down the road to the next greasy Joe’s to get a plate of sausage, egg and chips as a welcome alternative to a bowl of muesli. Unfortunately, this being Hamburg, Germany, there aren’t that many around, (although there’s Erika’s in the Sternstr. – they do a wicked fry-up) which will possibly save my life, but not help my wanton appetite. I reckon another thing that would go down a bomb here is a typical british chippy, you know, where they still use potatoes to make chips, and can fry you up a quick mars bar… A chippy, or a greasy Joe’s in St. Pauli and you’d be rolling in it.

But, I got a touch of nostalgia for my old London café in Tottenham, at the corner of White Hart Lane. I can’t remember what it was called, but it was run by a Greek, whose wife was called Pat (I think – so long ago), so I wrote a poem about a woman toiling away in one of these cafés, and called it Pat’s Place, – you can read it here.

I’m think I’m going to have an omelette.