Maria wasn’t entirely wrong; the dream was a little premonitory. I entered the bar area from the balcony that overlooks the car park, expecting to find the tables mostly occupied and Rob’s comforting, homely presence bringing light and joie de vivre to the bustling atmosphere.
(Rob is the bar manager who now reads this blog, apparently, so I have to pretend to like him. I thought I would do so with a dash of irony, which he understands better than most.)
To continue:
The shutters were down on the bar counter. No people, no bustling atmosphere, no Rob. The place felt as dead as only an empty public space in a theatre during the hours of daylight can feel. It’s why I used to hate doing Christmas matinees. It went one stage further than that, though.
I decided to go for a pee, only to find workmen in both public toilets. They were replacing panels in the suspended ceilings, so there were holes where there shouldn’t have been holes, just as there had been in the dream – caused by workmen, just as they had been in the dream.
This is slightly worrying. If there’s one thing I don’t want, it’s prophetic dreams.
There’s a Wales-Fiji rugby match on the TV shortly, so I might tell you today’s other bad news later.
2 comments:
Aw. Was the bar shut for good, or just that day?
It was shut because the theatre had been on a sort of two-week hiatus preparing for the big Christmas show. I saw Rob later. He was in getting the bar ready for the opening tonight. (We are friends, BTW, that stuff abot pretending to like him was just a joke.)
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