Who will top up my soul?

The Chinese Took a Piece Me Away

I was walking up* Oxford Street. When I reached New Bond St, I remembered a pub I had long wanted to pop into, but - how foolishly, it was to turn out - I kept delaying the visit. I couldn't recall where exactly it was, but the building was so characteristic there was no chance I would miss it.

But I did.

When I arrived at the corner of Oxford St and South Molton St I recognised the place but not its content. Where the pub should - and I mean "should" in all possible senses of the word, including the moral one - be I saw now a shop with a Japanese/Chinese** sounding name and some boring rags on display.

I refused to believe it. I felt like crying (probably I did; I was so shaken I can't remember clearly the following few minutes), or shouting (see the previous bracketed comment) or kicking myself (see the previous bracketed comment; or - to speed things up - see the comment two brackets backwards), or running right away to the City Hall, the Queen's Walk, SE1, demanding to speak to Boris and kicking up a fuss (see ..  I'm sure you get the hang of it now).  

When I recovered after... well, I'm not sure after what exactly (you know what to see)... no - actually I haven't recovered: someone took a piece of me away - more!  it was as if a careless (but let's say: very, very sexy - just to brighten up a little this sad story) barmaid spilt a little of my soul.  

Now, let's move on to metaphysics (you knew it was coming, didn't you?):  who will give the piece of me back? Who will top up my soul?  

Don’t delay it: have that pint now!

*literally "up". Only a little earlier this year did I notice how deep that valley in the middle of Oxford Street was. One day we’ll be kicking ourselves for having allowed shop windows to take away so much of our lives!
** I've done some investigation and found out that it was Chinese. I realise that there are quite a few of them (the Chinese), but my investigation will go on, and - this side of the bar of life (that's is such a 'cheap lager' metaphor, I admit) or the other, I will learn who exactly stood behind that spillage of a little of the British soul.


Picture: Stewart Marshall (flickr); I hope it' OK (but I feel bad about it. I really do.)