YEN FOR VIET

I once read that Nick Cave started a Bad Seeds song with the words ‘I thought I’d take a walk today…’ because he was feeling uninspired and decided to let his mind wander. What followed is the rambling, ferocious, hysterically brilliant, ‘Oh My Lord’, including this insanely wonderful verse:

“Now I’m at the hairdressers, people watch me as they move past

A guy wearing plastic antlers presses his bum against the glass

Now I’m down on my hands and knees

And it’s so fucking hot!

Somebody cries, ‘What are you looking for?’

I scream, ‘The plot! The plot!’”

So I thought I’d take a walk today…

Only because my driver’s license was suspended and now I catch the bus and walk to work, but it’s ok. Like Morrissey wears black on the outside cause black is how he feels on the inside, today I’m wearing blue. Blue jeans, blue shirt, blue socks, blue nail polish, but black shoes – like a big bruise. Now I’m crossing King Street, people bump me as they move past, a guy who smells like wee and is covered in flour chats to himself and laughs.
Winehouse wails love is a losing game, I think it may be one of the best songs I’ve heard and that her death is a shame. Not enough young people know about The Ronettes and that makes me feel the same. I nearly walk into a tree because I’m checking my twitter feed, I look up to make sure nobody saw me, then retweet @gilescoren kind of hoping that maybe he will see me.
Now I’m nearly there, and just avoid walking into a sign cause I’m distracted by a bad driver with bad hair. My second near miss affirms that I’m a sloppy walker and an indiscreet gawker. The automatic doors are slower than expected as I lope into work and I halt suddenly to avoid hitting the glacial glass, feeling like a jerk.
And then I work all day, drink two coffees to keep the yawns at bay. Enjoy a ham sandwich for lunch, with hot mustard; the service is slow and I’m late back to my desk, worried I’ll be busted. Between tasks I check my phone a lot, til someone asks, ‘what are you looking for?’ and I scream, ‘The plot! The plot!’
My uninspiring day calls for an uninspiring dinner and today Yen for Viet, on my way home in Marrickville, delivers. Beef noodle soup ($12) is missing the requisite aromatics and doesn’t come close to the heady perfection of Pho Phd next door. To be fair, everything we eat tastes of the cloying, powdery perfume of the large, loud lady who has plopped down next to us. The salt and pepper calamari ($12) is hot, curly and bouncy, equi-salt-and-peppery and a dish I would happily come back for; it’s the best I’ve tried in Marrickville. The loud lady agrees, yelling that it is the greatest salt and pepper squid she has ever tasted – and she looks as though she’s sunk a few squid in her time. She gulps it down like a starving Pelican, then slows down her yelling to ask the baffled waiters to hurry up because she has to get away to see a hypnotist’s show at 7:30. I wonder if Peter Powers has hypnotized a bull before?
Yeah, I’m uninspired, and sure, my walk was rambling, but the ferocious, hysterically brilliant and insanely wonderful magic of Nick Cave’s wander eludes me. Here’s hoping my plot isn’t completely lost, just suspended like my driver’s license.

Yen for Viet

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