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Bye, Bye Burlington.


It must have been a while since my last casting, as the café I usually go into before them today appeared to be a long time closed down.

It was very disappointing. I bounded confidently up to the door only to stop in my tracks. The café resembled a building site, with stepladders sprinkled liberally around the premises and light fittings hanging precariously from the ceiling. A sign in the window announced that a new restaurant was imminent. There would be no cup of tea and a Kit Kat for me.

I’m surprised that no one in the area seems to have kicked up a fuss. The café was a Soho institution, which, judging from the amount of photos above the till, was proud to boast Colin Jackson as a celebrity client. A sportsman of his calibre would have been the perfect face to front a campaign to keep the place alive.

Jackson wasn’t the only famous person to have supped in the Burlington Café. Their Wall of Fame also boasted a grumpy-looking Paul Weller, a nonplussed Louis Walsh and a smiley Ian Waite. Think of the publicity they could have garnered if they’d all joined forces. Weller could have written a song for the cause, with Walsh producing and Waite choreographing the video. Then the three of them could have laid end to end while Jackson leapt over them. They would have raised a fortune.

I’ll now have to find a new haunt to frequent while summoning up the courage to walk into an audition. Today, it was a Starbucks. There wasn’t a single picture of a hurdler in sight.
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