I had a valedictory lunch of omelette, chips and beans (with cup of tea, 50p extra) at the New Piccadilly cafe for the last time last week. The cafe closed its large antique till for the last time on the 22nd of September 2007, to make way for some godawful rent-hoovering money-grasping monstrosity, and with it goes a little corner of London. The New Piccadiliy wasn't about the food - the cod was probably frozen in 1955, and the peas were of the tinned garden variety - but the New Piccadilly had an interior that was all Formica and convenience, plus waiters in little uniforms that suggested they were moonlighting on the Love Boat. It was a democratic place, where the air conditioning battled with popular opera, and the plastic flowers never wilted. I'll miss it, and London will be a more sterile homogenous place without it.
It seems to me that as a populous we are slowly being brainwashed in believing that places like Starfucks and Cafe Nero are classy and stylish. We mistake convenience with quality or individual style. The multinationals drink in our pay packets every month and offer us nothing but over priced watered down coffee. In the next few blogs I will be talking about some other great London Landmarks that will be paved over to put up a parking Lot. Soon London will look like a sanatised disney land, but the city boys, the government and tourist will love it, because it safe and classy.
I want my London to be dirty, mysterious, unique, rebellious and dangerous.
My vision of London is not that of New Labour, its a giant sculpture of the Artful Dodger, wearing a hoodie over his jaunty top hat, a glint in his eyes with a stolen wallet in one hand and a greasy mug of tea from the new Piccadilly cafe in the other.
Viva la revolution
Che Martinez
Aka Lord Monty
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