On Anon (Piccadilly)

Miss Piggy (The Muppet Movie)

More than 30 years. That’s how long I gave that green pond-life.

Now look at me. The looks have long gone and here I sit, just some wizened old porker, propping up the bar, showing out for drunks, or maybe a stag party. Waiting to be paired up as the comedy turn in a pull-a-pig game.

I swear it ain't right, and I blame the frog 100 per-friggin-cent.

Tonight I've dolled myself up good and proper. The hook-nosed cock once told me I looked my best with plenty of war paint on. What a charmer he is, the filthy old git. I gave him the old karate chop for that one, but the pain is all mine really.

That ugly brown twit never had to worry about love. Still surrounded by young chicks like he was the first day I met him.

Truth hurts, and long ago I took his advice and headed on down to On Anon in Piccadilly, more paint than the Queen Mary. You might think I should've gone to Tiger Tiger, but it's a younger crowd in there and there's more chance of finding a dose of amnesia in here.

It's all about probabilities when you hit your 50's. Even I can find someone to fill my needs here. Fill my needs? Ha! More like be the big old butt of someone's water-cooler joke tomorrow morning.

I'll be crying as usual, like the day I woke up with my darling's best-mate, that disgusting, expanding, brown bear.

Even he couldn't bear to be with me come breakfast, making his excuses; …. "a gig he had to prepare for," he said …. like he's had any kind of gig in the last decade.

Gig? My trotter. He couldn't get a slot on the Edinburgh fringe.

Oh, I've just thought about that: He couldn't 'bear' to be with me! If it wasn't so sad it'd be funny. And there's a piece of ultimate irony, because if there's one thing that big brown idiot never was, it's funny.

Oh Kermie, why couldn't you get beyond the curly tail. I would've lost some weight; I could've dropped pork for you my little green hero.

Which of On Anon's endless floors am I on tonight? I've no idea; there are so many bars in this darn place and I've been to them all – usually sloshed. I'd make it to the top floor, but the old trotters aren't what they once were. So I'm lower down, on a quieter first floor bar I think.

I'm perched here with a double gin and tonic, waiting for a reserved section to fill with punters.

It's tactics. I've learned that reserved areas generally mean a works party, so there should be plenty of drunks. Maybe some old married snake will take pity on me. I clocked the barman's contempt when I tried to sit down in their precious area; all the barmen do that.

I smiled sweetly back at him. Probably go home with the jerk at the end of the evening. Lucky me.

That's the reality you see, and I've just got to face it; I'm the victim of unrequited love, a past-it pig. I'm desperate. And desperation is what motivates half the clientele at On Anon, unless they're tourists.

Boy, am I depressed, so I need to temper my views. I'll give On Anon a solid rating of five, because it's got a lot of bars, stays open late and at least its clientele will help me forget the frog – for one more night at least.

Miss Piggy's rating for On Anon - 5 / 10

Sputnikski

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