It may have been just a twisted comical dream, but at some point in the early 90s I visited a basic warts an' all palace of formica and lino in the Kings Cross area of London. A throw back cafe that I'd imagined would inhabit some wretched Stalanist outpost, where pale faced workers blankly observe the world beneath cold strips of neon. Remember, my memory is forever being corrupted by an overactive imagination! Anyway, adorning the walls of this most unwelcoming of establishments were the fading faces of JR, Sue Ellen, Miss Ellie, Bobby Ewing et al., for this, believe it or not, was the 'Dallas Cafe'. Picture the scene if you will, there I was drinking a stiff cup of tea and contemplating my next move on an unidentified edible object on the plate in front of me, when who should fall through the door but Sue Ellen herself. Pausing briefly to steady herself in the doorway, she let her seasick eyes swim across the tables to take stock of the clientèle. The unsettling edible object on my plate pinged away from my fork as my jaw lay slack in my lap. Before long 'our' Sue was propped up at the counter and fumbling to formulate a sentence, when the waitress quipped back without batting an eyelid, "would y' like a cuppa tea luv?" Before you could hum the theme tune, in walked the ten gallon Texan, JR. Well, all hell broke loose. He slapped her, she grappled and screamed at him, an empty cup and saucer flew through the air, narrowly missing my left ear. Numb and enraged in the aftermath, JR wiped down his tea soaked suit with a fistful of serviettes, and as for me, I'd lost my appetite and my drink was cold . Do you you believe me?, no I didn't think so, but I had fun writing it though. By the way, if neon strip lighting doesn't exist in Stalinist outposts, please let me know. Thank you.
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