If you put a Like on this, Christmas will come around even faster.
Hello to you, hope all is fine and dandy. Intro done.
We had landed into the new year of 2008, and as usual, it was bitterly cold and wet. Normally, at this time of year we wouldn’t have noticed the weather, we would have been running the restaurant, so the only indication we had of the weather, was how cold or wet the diners were when they arrived.
But it was miserable, grey clouds hung like battleships above us, waiting to drop a barrage of icy rain pellets, and the cold wind seemed to cut through the walls of the house.
Plus, we both had raging colds, in fact we had several, one after the other. A bloke down the road said that it was because we had stopped, relaxed. His theory was that as you relaxed, your defences were down. Was he wrong or right? Dunno, but we felt rough.
And money was an issue. After the restaurant sale, we were hit with a large tax bill, it’s due to Capital Gains you see, you make some money, you give some away. Fine, but nobody forewarned us. We had made calculations based on the sale of the restaurant, these calculations needed looking at.
And don’t forget, we needed money to live on, to buy food, to pay the mortgage. With no restaurant in operation, there was no money coming in.
We needed to find a restaurant site pretty quickly.
So we rang agents again, “Do you have anything new on the market?”
And an interesting answer came back to us.
“Don’t worry, there’s always fresh stock on the market in January, and often it’s nil premium.”
“OK, but why in January?”
“Because those restaurants which have been struggling hold out for the Christmas trade, a last minute boost. And most commercial rents are due on the 24th of December, so these restaurant owners keep the cash and then disappear after Christmas without paying the rent.”
And they were right, it happened often.
So off we went to London, we drove down because it was cheaper than the train. And driving for five or six hours in the rain and sleet while your eyes and nose were running was delightful, such a treat.
And again we toured London with various agents, along with that fifty pence A-Z in my hand, Donna didn’t do the directions. But the excitement had worn off long ago, rushing to unknown places in various corners of London, just to be disappointed, had become dull.
“This place is in an amazing location, and luckily it’s right next door to a police station.”
“So why is that lucky?”
“Well, you never know.”
And you arrive five minutes before the agent and you realise why it’s lucky that the police station is next door.
If you reckon we deserve a choccylatteoatyespreessini for writing this, then that’s the button.
On a brighter note, we met a great agent who would take us travelling in a black cab to view sites. We’d never been in a black cab before, we felt special. This agent, he was called Nathan, would also give us a little guided commentary to help us get our heads around the areas of London.
“Right, this is Crouch End and next we’re going to Upper Holloway, and after that we’ll hit Kentish Town.”
Thanks Nathan, but it still didn’t mean much.
We arrived back home and the next morning started pestering agents again. We made some plans to meet, and three days later we were off again. Same procedure, book a Travelodge which had available parking, make sandwiches, fill a little suitcase, grab the A-Z and off we went.
Oh yea, and a box of paper tissues for our snotty noses.
This time we had driven down on a Sunday, and the appointments were all on the Monday.
So we got up early on the Monday morning, looked up at the grey skies and looked down at the wet car park, grabbed our phones, some cash and the A-Z. I could calculate our first location while we were on the tube by flicking through the tatty pages of that trusty book.
It was bitterly cold, and this didn’t help our colds. We stood in greasy kitchens, and greasy dining rooms, just listening to agents telling us the back story of each place while we blew our noses and spluttered into our hands.
“No, sorry, it’s not for us.” We’d met some of these agents many times over the whole year of searching, and we were conscious that they may start to regard us as two northern time wasters.
“We do want a site, it just has to be the right one.”
“Yes no problem, if anything else comes up we’ll let you know.”
Or, “Be gone you pair of nuisances.”
The last appointment on that day was with an agent we hadn’t met before. We knew the company, but their website showcased big beautiful restaurants in Covent Garden with huge dining rooms where lead crystal chandeliers hung. And kitchens which looked like they were from a space shuttle. A little out of our pice range.
However, they had a site advertised on the last page of their website, the one nobody wanted. We planned to arrive at the location early, as usual, just so we could get a feel for the reality of the area, before the agent came along with their fairy tale.
The A-Z took us to Chancery Lane tube station, then a little way down Chancery Lane itself. It was around 5:30pm, but it was January dark, so it felt like 10pm. And we had to weave our way through crowds of legal folk, all protecting themselves from the rain with huge black brollies. It was like a one way system for people, they were heading towards the tube station, we were heading away from it. Chancery Lane is the legal district of London you see, so most of these people worked in courts, or offices, or something else, you get the gist.
And when we turned a couple of corners, we were a bit stumped, because there were actually two restaurants in front of us. One was closed, and one was open, it could have been either of them. The open restaurant looked pretty busy, which was encouraging for 5:30pm on a Baltic Monday. But it was a little small, maybe it would be bigger when we went inside.
The other restaurant, the one which was closed, was much bigger, double fronted, as if it had been two buildings at one time and they’d been knitted together. We used the torch on our phones to shine a light through the windows. It looked big, a bit scruffy but big. And it seemed to have a downstairs also.
“Donna, I hope that this is the one we’re viewing.”
“So do I.”
As we waited for the agent we had a quick look around. The street was small and narrow, and it had a dead end. It was also hidden away from the main road, a negative to some people, but we liked it.
You see, there’s something satisfying when you search for a restaurant and find it tucked away, almost like finding treasure. Well, that’s how we saw it anyway.
The agent arrived, she was friendly and smiling, even though ice daggers were falling from the sky.
“It’s this one here,” and she pointed to the double fronted property. We were happy about this.
And when we walked into the recaption area, we both knew, straight away, we were having it, finally.
It was messy, apparently the landlord had been letting it out for Christmas parties whilst they waited for a permanent operator. There was a red bar to the right, it was awful, that would need to be ripped out. And the dining area was broken up in two parts, we liked that.
Downstairs there was more seating, in what looked like a Japanese garden. And there was a kitchen to the right, decent sized. And it had a lot of equipment in place, fridges, stoves, grills. Bit dirty, but it just needed some soapy water splashing on it.
There were toilets at the back and there was also a little prep area in one corner, for making tea and coffee, stuff like that. This was just what we were looking for. And it had only taken a year to find.
We knew the price and we knew the rent amount from the agent’s details. As the agent was upstairs waiting for us, Donna and I had a mini meeting and we decided that we should tell her that we would put an offer in.
So we plodded upstairs, noses still running and told the agent that that we were very interested and we would put an offer in. She seemed surprised.
“But you’ve only been in here for ten minutes?”
But that was all we needed, ten minutes. Well, a year and ten minutes.
“Yes but we know it’s the right place for us. We’ll call you tomorrow, is that OK?”.
“Yes, good with me,” and she reached out to shake my snotty hand, so I politely obliged.
Donna couldn’t shake the hand of the agent as her sleeve had become caught in the zip of her jacket and she couldn’t move her arm.
The next morning we were back in York, tired, coughing, and still a bit snotty. We called the agent, and after some haggling over the price and the rent, we came to a deal. The agent just needed to confirm with the landlord, and all being well, we would have a restaurant in Took’s Court, London.
And then something strange happened.
Donna’s father had asked us to let him know when we found somewhere, and Donna asked if I could call him and give him the details of the exact location. Well, I didn’t really know where it was myself, all I knew was that it was near Chancery Lane tube station.
So I called and gave him the news.
“That’s good good to hear, where abouts is it?
“Took’s Court.”
“Where’s that?”
And because I wasn’t sure, I looked down at the A-Z.
“Well, you’ve got Fleet Street, then Chancery Lane running north of that, then Took’s Court is a right turn, just off Cursitor Street.”
When I put the phone down Donna was staring at me, “How do you know exactly where it is?”
“I looked at the A-Z.”
And Donna replied, “But the A-Z isn’t open.”
And when I looked back at that tatty book, Donna was right, it wasn’t open.
But the front cover had an example shot which showed what the interior pages looked like.
And on that example, was Took’s Court.
Our new restaurant site had been under my thumb for a year. Every time that A-Z was used, the answer was right there in front of us.
Now that’s freaky deaky.
Thanks for reading, catch you next week, Donna and Andrew.
Am loving this story!
Omg... totally freaky deaky. I can't wait for the Netflix series.