Johnny Mazcko gave us his latest EP, “Absinth”, this summer, in Maryland, and we were impressed by what we heard. In fact Mrs. Monk collapsed into tears when she heard this particular song, “Tomorrow’s Just Another Day”
Subsequently we returned home to Leigh On Sea and we mislaid the CD for two months until this weekend when I rediscovered it, misfiled in the wrong case.
I blame Mrs Monk
I replayed “Absinth,” in the channel tunnel
We were on our way to Calais and this was a 24 hour return shopping trip for French wine, and Calvados. Absinth remains an illegal beverage in France.
We stayed for one night in the Holiday Inn overlooking the harbour where stray packs of “asylum seekers” have still not given up hope of making that journey to the chosen land, Dover and beyond.
By supper time Johnny's songs had re-entered our Psyche and Mrs Monk insisted on singing along. I begged her for mercy, but there was no stopping her.
“Absinth” is the illicit addictive, and mind-altering bohemian beverage observed by Degas and Manet, and now Johnny Mazcko, it seems.
In Calais this weekend we chose a brasserie, and across the road was a bar coincidentally called the Le’Absinthe, but what also caught our eye was an old man of the street who made a bed for himself out of his crumpled belongings, in a confined glass phone booth. The French diners about us were much agitated by this sight. We watched the old man settle down as Mrs Monk tucked into Moules, and I enjoyed Steak and Frites. The old man got to us. It was a cold night.
We watched him take the phone off the hook so that he would not be disturbed.
The following morning we returned to the same brasserie, and in fact the same table, for breakfast.
We enjoyed our Petit dejeuner with black coffee, and watched the same old man rise from his lodging, carefully avoiding the tall green bottle that stood like a sentry in the confined glass house.
We watched him replace the phone on the hook.
Mrs Monk had ordered feather pillows at the Holiday Inn,
. Shoestring Chronicle