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THE FOREST
(and what it means to me)
I discovered the Forest Café roughly three or four years ago, stumbling through the door, under false pretences when a buffoon of a friend claimed I could purchase alcohol there easily, even though I was under-age. A drunken me hauled himself through the door, over some hippies, past some rather strange looking foreign people, discussing acid and the meadows, and made my way to the counter. What followed was a rather ridiculous conversation that swayed dangerously close to becoming an argument with the girl behind the counter, as she attempted to explain to my inebriated self that no alcohol could be purchased over the counter. This was the first and last time I visited the Forest for quite some time.
Anyway, talk is cheap. Here’s the poison…
Cut to me at eighteen. School’s a distant memory and all I care about is music, girls, booze, drugs and cigarettes. I can’t hold down a job and a job can’t hold down me. I’ve got a CV that jumps ridiculously from place to place, as every job just slams to a halt abruptly after three or four months, when I’m either thrown out on my arse, or I can’t take it anymore, and before I shoot myself in the face, I get out of there as fast as I fucking can.
Music is my life, but it doesn’t pay any bills yet, so I needed something to keep me occupied during the days, and stop me going insane and becoming agoraphobic in the four walls of my room. You see, all I have to look forward to in a day is about two hours of the entire twenty four, which will be spent in a gig, or a practise, or a recording. I needed some sort of structure, god help me.
So, there I was, drunker than Satan, standing somewhere on the Cowgate, perhaps outside Subway, or maybe somewhere even more hideous. Who knows! Anyway, I met someone, no idea who, as I was busy propping myself up against a wall, in case I fell down and shattered my skull. We danced around the usual terrible drunken spraff of a conversation- you know, the ‘oh what do you do?’ let’s pretend I’m interested in your shite life sort of conversation. I probably managed to struggle my way through a ‘music is my life’ spiel, as ever, and then they told me they were working at the Forest Café but they were volunteering. Volunteering? What rubbish is this? I thought. Working for no money? Ha! How I laughed myself to sleep that night.
But, the more I thought about it, the more intrigued I became. Why would someone work for free? What would I get out of it? Maybe it would take the attention off my criminal convictions when I apply for a job? Maybe it would give me inspiration for songs? Maybe it would get me out the house and meeting new people? I carried on thinking.
Eventually, I plucked up the courage, and headed into town with a purpose. I walked straight in, past I’m sure, the same hippies, and the same strange looking foreign people discussing acid and the meadows as when I first stumbled in, and reached the counter. A sentence fell out of my mouth about wondering how I could possibly maybe go about meeting someone about working there. Shannon smiled and handed me the rota, informing me just to find a day that I was free, and I could just start then. It’s that easy?? I thought. So anyone can just work here?? Hmm. This sounds a bit suspect. But I smiled back, and wrote down my name and number, and this is where it all began my friend.
You see, since my first shift, I’ve been finding it harder and harder to keep away from the Forest. Whether it’s volunteering, or playing gigs, or watching gigs, or simply coming in to read, or eat something…. I just can’t help but find myself there. I can’t explain it, there’s just something about the place. It feels like a second home. Even after a shift, I find myself staying for days on end. I’ve met many amazing people there, and I truly believe it’s beginning to change my life.
God! Listen to me! If the drunken arsehole inside me all those years ago could see me now, he would laugh his head off, fall over and throw up all over his own shoes. What’s happened to me?? Billy Liar in a hippie café?? Bloody hell!
But seriously, the Forest Café is the ONLY place I have ever been in that no-one judges anyone. Everyone’s welcome and I have a lot of respect for that. I have never been to a place like it, and I do not believe another place quite like it exists.
Long live the Forest! And may it never change, or Edinburgh, and indeed Scotland, will in fact lose a very important place.
Billy Liar xxx
_________________ while we hid in the House Of Bamboo. x
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