"Do you know where I can get a Pizza."
#LoveLoveLove #valentine #pizza
#We dont need a piece of paper from the city hall
Reasons why pizza
is so important to me.
No 1 reason:
Mrs Monk's college trip from Maryland USA, to London, Leicester Square.
Mrs Monk's first words to me were, "Do you know where I can get a Pizza?"
I lied, said "Yes", and took her and her entourage to Kings Road, an eventful journey on the underground where a drunken bigot literally held up the train and started to blame Mrs Monk for the Vietnam War. I will expand on this on another occasion.
No 2 reason:
A fifteen year transatlantic courtship, both of us reluctant to actually get wed, due to, I don't know what.
On the way to the courthouse in Snow Hill, Maryland I stopped at a stop sign.
Due to mutual ambivalence, I had to ask the present Mrs Monk if I should turn left or right. We had paid our fifteen dollars in advance for the marriage licence, but we had to turn right to actually make our way to the Courthouse in order to complete the transaction and get hitched.
Mrs Monk decided to turn right and so did I.
Mr Witherspoon, the Justice of the Peace carried out the ceremony with an endless smile, Mrs Monk leant on his lectern and cried copious loud tears throughout the entire ceremony. Mr Witherspoon's smile never wavered. Maybe he had seen it all before, but I very much doubt that he had seen it quite like this before. We had no guests to the wedding, since we did not know for certain that it would actually happen.
We made our way to John Mazcko Snr's, bar in Ocean City, He served us some ice cold beer, and we had our wedding supper right there at his bar.
Yes, we had a pizza.
John Mazcko Snr had married Mrs Monk's sister Polly and they had the full country club deal. He must have wondered about our 15 dollar wedding but he was happy to be the only guest, at our wedding Pizza dinner. He gave us the beer. Thank you John.
No 3 reason:
My father died far to young. He was 53 and I was 13, when he died. He had a fiddle and used to play in an orchestra. Something I never saw or heard him do. Frankly, he did not allow me to touch the violin, when he was alive.
I was forced to share a table in a cafe, Chiswick West London, where I was working for some years. The stranger with whom I shared a table was an amiable old man. I was in my twenties, at that time with long hair past my shoulders. He was something of a well turned out gentleman, and a musician, and something of a specialist in stringed instruments, including the violin.
I told him about my father and his violin.
He told me about his son who had started a restaurant, which he called PIZZA EXPRESS.
He invited me to bring my father's violin to his home, which I did, a few days later; we had tea. He showed me his huge collection of violins violas and his mandolins.
It was a nice afternnoon.
American Hot is a variety of Pizza on the menu at Pizza Express.
I wrote and recorded a song by that name, 13th February 2004, before the great lady got home from school on that day.
Made her weep.... again, on the 14th February 2004.
It is now 47 Years since I was first asked where Mrs Monk might buy a pizza and we are still ambivalent about that paticular question.
A tiny slice of "American Hot" may be downloaded here.