The chair next to you’s free.
A love letter to the lyrics of I Hope That I Don’t Fall In Love With You by Tom Waits
“You could take all the bar songs in the world, and put ’em together and they’d stretch all the way to Kansas City, I guess, there’s millions of ’em. This is just another one.” Tom Waits.
Where am I? Worcester? Or is it Darlington? Or Carlisle? I know I know, but I really can’t tell any more. I slept walked here. The sat nav chauffeured me here and the roundabouts and contraflows merged into one slow moving stream that traipsed me into this comatose town. Wipers squeaking away a motorway drizzle, dirty and mean. Costa cups and fag butts in the gutters. A functional building, four stories tall but squat and without an ounce of soul.
“You’re in Room 210. Down the corridor and on the second floor. Have you stayed with us before?”
“Well not this Premier Inn, but yes, I know the drill thank you. What time do you start breakfast?
“Seven O’clock, just left of reception in there. Are you here on business?”
“Yes. Got a couple of meetings tomorrow in town.”
“Have you come far?”
“Yes, five hours on the M6 for my sins.”
“Where’s home?”
“Right down south. On the coast.”
“Here’s the key card. You’re all checked in.”
“Great, thank you. Is there somewhere nearby that does good food tonight? Not fancy. Good pub grub?”
“The Stonemasons is a Fullers pub just around the corner, down the steps, on the canal side.”
“Thank you. I’ll give it a go”
Well I hope that I don’t fall in love with you,
’Cause falling in love just makes me blue.
“Hello luv, what can I get you?”
“Erm, what’s the Honey Dew ale like, can I have a taste please?”
“Sure. It’s very popular in the summer. Might be a bit cold for a summer ale now it’s winter.”
“That’s nice. Yes, a pint please. Can I start a tab? Probably going to have something to eat in a bit.”
“Sure, there are menus on the table. Just come and order at the bar and tell me what table number you’re on. Is that everything for yourself?”
“Yes, one pint at a time is enough for me.”
“Haha, yes of course, I’ll put you on 33 for now.”
She’s beautiful. A tiny blue stone stud in her nose. Long dark hair pulled back tight. Deep brown eyes. Almost black, but sparkling. No ring on her finger but too young. Twenty-five. Twenty-eight tops. Nice eyebrows. Natural. Not plucked into strange black oblongs. I don’t get the weird eyebrows thing nowadays. Do young guys like them?
Well the music plays and you display, Your heart for me to see,
I had a beer and now I hear you, Calling out for me
And I hope that I don’t fall in love with you.
Five shaven headed scousers in Fred Perry and Adidas take the table for four next to me. A big one approaches with a friendly inquisitive smile. Not hostile.
“Is anyone sitting on this chair mate? Mind if I take it?”
“No go ahead.”
I’m on my own. That’s obvious.
I’m flicking through Twitter and Instagram and even fucking LinkedIn, but no one's there. I could reply to that email, but it’ll keep for tomorrow. That one doesn’t need or deserve a reply. It’s just Julian cc’ing away responsibility as usual.
I wonder how my boys are doing? Think today was that trip to the Roman fort. I’ll text their mum later to ask if I can have a chat with them tomorrow.
Well the room is crowded, people everywhere
And I wonder, should I offer you a chair?
Well if you sit down with this old clown,
Take that frown and break it,
Before the evening’s gone away,
I think that we could make it,
And I hope that I don’t fall in love with you.
“Same again luv?”
“Yes please. That last one went down well. Can I order some food please?”
“Sure. what table are you on?”
“Number twelve. Can I get the lamb shank please?”
“Certainly. One lamb shank. Do you want seasonal veg as a side?”
“Erm, what does it come with?”
“Mashed potato and red cabbage.”
“Sure some extra veg would be good.”
She’s got a huge smile, but it’s slightly crooked. Lovely full lips, but it turns down a bit on the right and up a bit on the left. But that’s not a bad thing. It’s not some cut and paste Kardashian. It’s a gorgeous smile. I bet she went to art college. Maybe a young kid at home. A single mum struggling. Her mum babysitting while she does the evening shift to pay for college. Bet she’s retraining as a yoga teacher or as a counsellor.
She looks wise beyond her years.
She looks kind. Despite everything she’s been through.
“Right that’s all done for you. Here’s your pint. Shouldn’t be too long, the kitchen’s not busy at the moment.”
Well the night does funny things inside a man
These old tom-cat feelings you don’t understand,
Well I turn around to look at you,
You light a cigarette,
I wish I had the guts to bum one,
But we’ve never met,
And I hope that I don’t fall in love with you.
“Are you all finished here? Can I clear your plate?”
“Yes, thank you. Delicious.”
“I love the lamb shank but we’re not supposed to have it as a staff meal, but when Greg is in the kitchen he does an extra couple for me and Lindsay.”
I bet he does.
“Do you want to order any desert? Want to see the sweet menu?”
“Oh, no thank you, I’m stuffed, but I’ll come and get another pint in a moment.”
“Same again? I’ll bring it over. I don’t mind. We’re not busy.”
That smile is really, really lovely. That one was for me for sure. That one wasn’t just professional. Shit she moves beautifully. Not a swagger, but she moves …. probably was a dancer. She probably did a season in Ibiza or Byron Bay or somewhere. Somewhere hot. Summer dresses with spaghetti straps over tanned skin. Sandy feet and salty hair. Some dickhead got her pregnant and left her on her own so she probably came back to have the kid here near her mum.
I can see that you are lonesome just like me,
And it being late, you’d like some some company,
Well I turn around to look at you,
And you look back at me,
The guy you’re with has up and split,
The chair next to you’s free,
And I hope that you don’t fall in love with me.
“There you go, another Honey Dew.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you want me to print the bill?”
“No, keep it open please. I might have another one.”
“No problem hun.”
The scousers watch her walk past and they look at each other with leery grins and mutter smutty things to each other I can’t hear. I scowl at them but they’re not looking at me. They’re looking at the way her perfect bum moves in those skinny black jeans.
You dirty old fuckers, she’s way too good for you, you old twats. She’s never going to go for anyone like you. How dare you objectify her like that. She’s way too classy for you. She’s just trying to earn some money to take her son away from this Brexit-voting shithole. She wants someone who’ll encourage her to be the artist she wants to be. Someone who’ll care about her day. Someone who’ll compliment her and take her to galleries and gigs and dance with her like she used to dance, carefree and wild. She wants someone cerebral who’ll teach her about …
She reminds me of Anna.
Now it’s closing time, the music’s fading out
Last call for drinks, I’ll have another stout.
Well I turn around to look at you,
You’re nowhere to be found,
I search the place for your lost face,
Guess I’ll have another round,And I think that I just fell in love with you.
“Can I settle up please?”
“Everything alright with your meal mate?”
He’s wearing dirty chef’s whites and an a badge that says Greg, Duty Manager.
“Yes thank you. Great.”
And I think that I just fell in love with you.
If you enjoyed this love letter, maybe you’ll like this to Solid Air by John Martyn.
