THE SENIOR

The thick curtains behind the small doors of the Wolseley brush over your shoulders as you enter.  There’s the sensation of a heavy overcoat being removed – as if shrugging off the day-to-day of ordinary life outside.  Friendly chatter fills the air and a vision expands in front of you as you step forward into the warmth; an oasis of elegance altogether different from the grey streets and sky you’ve just left behind.

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From the comfort of your table your eye dances across the room, subconsciously taking in one timeless, evocative detail after another: The dinner-suited contrast between black and white; the sharp angles of a bow-tie in marbled monochrome on the floor; warm gold and silver accents, like the shirt-studs and cuff-links of occasion pressed against soft white cloth; the sheen of black polished leather just seen beneath trouserred legs; a red-lacquered carnation in a button-hole on the wall.

 

Light glitters off a thousand pieces of cutlery in motion like the diamonds from a ball-gowned neck. A feminine smile breaks lips to meet your gaze. The hands on the clock-face sit motionless. Your mood vaults upwards like the room itself.

 

You only came in for a pot of Assam tea and a small bite to eat, but hang it all — “Yes - I’ll have a martini please – Plymouth Gin, straight up, with a twist...”