Thursday, 8 April 2004

We Love Wood Green

After watching the highly predictable Gothika (see review here) we decided to have a drink before heading home. Closest to the bus stop and cinema and therefore winning the contest of which bar will be the least horrific we popped into Chicago Rock Cafe. Wanna meet a bit of Wood Green rough? This is the joint.

3 bouncers required on a Wednesday night. Full bag checks all round. Much pawing through those miniscule ladies handbags.

Inside the door is a big circular bar. There's a second bar at the far end with a huge video screen over the top. Between the back bar and the front bar is a raised platform, a lower dance floor with a glass DJ booth, seating on both sides with a raised platform for standing and drinking.

The DJ is banging out club anthems. Its relatively early and fairly empty. We grab a table in the restaurant and watch over the balcony.

A couple of men sitting in a booth looking out, they don't say a word to each other all night. Women come in pairs. Sit in pairs. Go to the ladies in pairs. A pair of blonds just in front of us are very popular eye candy. Men ogle. Girls giggle.

There's an unmarked route between the front bar and the back bar which is like a seaside promenade. Women sit along it. Men stroll up and down strutting their stuff and surveying the scene.

Its a bit like whores in a Toulouse Lautrec brothel. They are playing Lady Marmalade as sung by Christina Aguilera, Mya, Pink, Lil' Kim and Missy Elliot. They've already played Christina Aguilera's Dirty. The guys can't peel their eyes off the video screen. Roles models of the punters would include the lovely Christina and Peter Andre. There's enough grease, collectively, to keep a caf in fried eggs for a year.

Men strategically place themselves close to their girls of choice. Or alternatively at a high vantage point where they can survey the entire venue. The lights are high. Visibility is good. A couple of lone guys dance at the back bar. The dance floor is empty. One in particular dances as if he's at an exercise class - you can see boxercise routines and moves from bruce lee movies creeping into the choreography.

Two girls arrive. Blond. One short with a very low cut blouse. The other tall wearing a racing back FCUK t-shirt. Two men independently come up to her and greet her with encompassing hugs and kisses. Its the kind of place where a girl can shag her way around the male clientele (apparently). These dominant females gradually become surrounded by males. Circling, getting closer, not making a move just yet.

On the promenade baboons and gorillas stroll up and down eyes bulging. Half expect wolfman to appear with his jaw on the ground and tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.

Pretty girls entertain neanderthals because they have a decent car. The atmosphere is expectant. Waiting for something to happen. Guys gradually close in towards the dance floor. Before long you know there will be ladies dancing like Christina with men rubbing up behind them all over the place. Just in front of us a couple is engaging in some bad kissing - noses getting in the way, upper lips being pulled, too much teeth.

Having seen enough of men who would be peacocks we decided it was best to make a run for the door before our glasses, age and work clothes stopped being a barrier to advances.

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