Feeling so blue, so good

My friend P. (the same one who dragged me to Buddha Bar some time ago) was back in town last week, and thanks to her I accidentally discovered a small gem in the West End. A very small gem, in fact, but all the more precious. Her friend / Romantic Interest was playing the guitar at this hole-in-the-wall place called Aint nothing but ... The Blues Bar, so we went to eye him from a distance without telling him. (A romantic hit-and-run of sorts.) I don't think P. was having a very good time, since said Romantic Interest had pissed her off the day before, and since the bar was really not her scene at all. But the music instantly clicked with my ears and my soul, so I persuaded her to stay for one drink ... and then another one. It was my first time at a blues venue. From what I had seen in movies, I always imagined a blues bar as some place where lonely people go to drown their heartaches in whisky, and where you eventually end up asleep on the table at 4am, and the barmaid will politely try to wake you up because she has kids waiting for her at home and really needs to close. Well, it turns out, The Blues Bar isn't like that at all. It was lively, happy and I instantly relaxed my shoulders, swayed my head with the rhythm and forgot about the stresses of my world outside.

The music rocked and the crowd consisted of the sort of people who really, really don't give a fuck about things. The barman wore a Rastafarian-style hat, high-fived the regulars like they were his long-lost friends, and smiled at me without being sleazy or flirty, because he was just too cool to be any other way. It made my day. The décor gives the Blues Bar a suitably chilled-out backdrop, with exposed brick, blues music scores for wallpaper and a bit of old-fashioned neon here and there. You don't expect such a homely atmosphere to be freely available (without an entrance fee!) just around the corner from the über-pretentious Regent Street.

I was a little apprehensive about using the loo at the Blues Bar, because I suspected it would be dirty, and even though I have survived worse (squat toilets at Indian bus stations), a girl just never really fancies taking a pee in smelly places. But I couldn’t hold it … soo … aah, better than I thought. Clean! Yeiiii! Plus, I discovered a whole world of literary non-fiction down there. See for yourselves …

Dear Blues Bar, I will be back soon. Dear London, give me more places like this, please, please, pretty please!!! My love for you is back.