After taking pix in Peterborough yesterday, I had a wander around where I used to live. Windmill Street is still there, and Gladstone Street, but my local boozer, the Gladstone Arms, is now a Portugese restaurant. There’s not much need for a pub any more, as the area is now almost totally Asian in character, and there are two mosques on Gladstone Street alone. Through the window of one mosque I saw lines of men prostrating themselves on the floor. Having read the Koran I have a better idea of what they are saying, and who they are saying it to. Instead of a mosque I now see a Trojan horse.
The Gladstone Arms was run by Luigi - Lou - and his “mom” and “pop” (that’s how they were known to the customers), and any of Lou’s brothers who weren’t in prison at the time. As you walked into the pub Lou would look at your feet, search behind the bar and produce a pair of shoes. “Try these on”, he’d say, “just your size”. Pop spent most of his time playing pool, and generally won. As he potted the black, he did a little dance of pleasure. “Next pigeon”, he’d say and the next mug would put his money in the slot and rack the balls…
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