I’m constantly asked where to find black men in London. If I knew I wouldn’t be single I retort snidely but then last night….I found the mecca. It’s only taken 10 years of looking, an exhausted oyster card and more dating disaster tales than any one woman should be able to own. I would normally tell you to SARF London as it avoids the metrosexual bourgie-ness of both East and West Londonese men but, the men in SARF aren’t always as assertive as one would like. I think NORF may have it.
But wait, let me go back. My friend T was having birthday celebrations and suggested Bar 300 in Walthamstow. I know my precious, my zone 1 radar went off but, I love T so I decided to make a weekend of it and stay at Mama Black’s nearby. Yes I KNOW that Walthamstow is only 25 mins from Victoria but I’m really not one for travelling across the city solo late at night.
Typically, I arrived before the others and settled myself in with Prosecco. Note to the management, the Martini Prosecco is not the one. I beg you review your choice. It was quiet and I was already fantasizing about heading out early to catch the last few recorded Big Bang Theory episodes with my mum. Then I spotted him. A staring short dude with a vapour cigarette and the angst ridden face of someone who wasn’t happy to be there. Later he came up to stand behind me but still didn’t say anything. As he left the bar he came up, mumbled a compliment then, ran away. Not the reaction I expected.
Then there was the Polish guy who said he came with a friend but the friend had to leave early to take his kids to football the next day. …this is a small bar, dude. I never saw you with anyone else?
Then there was the promoter who lied and said he was having his birthday party the following week and he wanted to give me a flier but he couldn’t let anyone else see. He looked around feverishly as we talked. Was he being watched by the pop o? Why can’t he just be honest and say he was there with a woman. But no, we did some drug exchange handshake for said flier. I looked at it this morning and, Ilford? He’s having a laugh. Nah mate. I’m not about to call.
My favorite was the 55 year old who didn’t work because he owned lots and lots of property but thought that Chelsea was too posh an area and that I was too young for him. I promptly agreed that he was too old for me and that my area was just fine, thanks. He asked for my number and I said no that I didn’t want to lead him on. So then as he left with his band of fellow retired men (none of them were under 60. Lies) he slipped me his business card. Reminds me I must get some dating business cards made up. It seems to be the new networking technique in bars and clubs. I also have to practice the discrete handshake so as not to be observed by anyone else hence, allowing me the opportunity to give out cards to everyone!
I came home with two numbers I didn’t want and sore feet from the dancing. Aside from the hour long reggae portion then rare grooves for an hour the music is on point. As I told 55 year old, I’m too young to remember 80s clubbing days. I was watching TOTP.
So don’t say I don’t share. Winter is soon coming and, if you are looking for a tiny bar with bad prosecco and a whole heap of men that want to chat you up then, Bar 300 is the one. This is quantity over quality so, play the statistics game my precious. At the very least it’s good to know that there are men out there that still give compliments, even if they do flee the bar afterwards in disgust. I hope he’s ok.
© Chelsea Black 2015