The Lord Moon Of The Mall, Whitehall

I am moved to declare that the Moon has been re-carpeted and re is right as it all looks tremendously similar.

In either a nod/broken neck to posterity or a distressing lack of innovation, the style is very much as it was. The textile is surely new, although neither having seen the receipt or been present at the CARPETRIGHT purchase I cannot guarantee this as FACT, to quote Rafa. It is a dark red colour, according to my eyes, with an elaborate fleur-de-lis design that is reminiscent of Milady de WInter's telltale tattoo. She is surely the saint of the Moon's various thieves (my phone was nicked here c2005, a white and orange Nokia with a then innovative joystick-type feature. The police never bothered with the CCTV or indeed the BBC they were more EPISILON MINUS than JULIET BRAVO) although being a fictional character she cannot be the patron saint in the sense of being both a patron and a saint. More likely a drink cadger or swiper of unguarded pints.

The underlay is surely new, given the delightfully bouncing tread which raises the heel, much like BUZZ ALDRIN in his venture of 1969 upon another and less celebrated MOON, if indeed THAT occured (see CAPRICORN ONE with Elliot Gould and James Brolin with a winning cameo from TELLY SAVALAS as curmudgeonly crop dusting slaphead). It may be TREDAIRE or similar top quality item. I wonder if they used the old grippers (not STEBSON) or did they "[Oi!]leave it out [Gripper]"? It's a mystery for the ages.

Perhaps the original carpet has merely been vigorously washed with a VAX or similar electronic device like the ones you can trent from certain TESCO's? If so, I shudder to contemplate the dire, viscous, abortionate filth that needs must have been sucked from that much abused pile. Piles on piles - the ultimate horror. Ground, congealed MEXICAN MONDAY burritos and calcified chicken from CURRY THURSDAY when Wetherspoons claim to become the nation's biggest "CURRY 'OUSE" although the buildings do not transfigure from bricks and mortar into pitilessly hardened PITTA BREAD with JALFREZI paste.

9 Jul 2015 16:38

The Moon Under Water, Leicester Square

How do I loathe thee? Let me count the ways.

Attenborough might claim there is life on earth, but a trip to this casa del crap would surely force an about face. One Dire Erection, or however you pronounce them, have more soul than this drowned world inn of grim.

The most charming feature is its beer garden, styled in the purest grey concrete, to the front elevation.

14 Jun 2014 10:24

The Lord Moon Of The Mall, Whitehall

As I wandered lonelier than WORDSWORTHS'S cloud past this celebrated liver killer, these eyes bore witness to various workmen buzzing and grafting both within and without, like Stakahnovite bees trapped in time and space.

One was painting the black iron railings a surprising shade of shadiest black. He used a small roller, and no, I don't reference a Carmargue or other short wheel-based Royce. His work was adequate. I tossed a coin of small denomination.

The doors of the esteemed establishment were open, despite it being closed. My mind reeled at the tempting paradox, like "the sun so hot, I froze to death" in the hit of yesteryear "Oh, Susanna" (before she quit BBC Breakfast, naturally). The Goat of Mendips, or whatever, he tempted me to enter and I took his challenge. The fact I was wrapped in a fluorescent tabard aided this misadventure for it is the ironic uniform of the blue collar worker and allows unusually free locomotion on many a site. Try it, dear reader, and you will stagger at its power.

I must say the Moon stank of more than the rank hopelessness and vile B.O that was its signature pre-closure. I waited at the bar and was not served: plus ca change, as they say in GAUL.

12 Jun 2014 16:51