Troy McNaughtonCBD Dilemma – Wentworth: Worth it?
June 29th 2006 18:55
So Miss E and I were walking around the CBD in the King Street, Pitt Street kind of vicinity the other night looking for a 6pm coffee. It was a bitch.
Thou shalt not drink coffee made by a bartender.
But Miss E had a brainwave and led me by the dirty greasemonkey layperson hand to the lounge of Sofitel Wentworth, 61-101 Phillip Street Sydney. So it’s really a bar. But they get their coffee from elsewhere – trust me, I checked.
And it was lovely. Tasteful lighting, comfortable chairs, less than snooty wait staff considering that we looked like a couple of sleep deprived students in the boggy depths of stuvac hell, and very accommodating of our preference for stimulants over depressants.
Then it started.
Musak. Big time. But what was, I’m certain, meant to be “easy listening” was actually overpowering – too loud, more sax crimes* than you could count without sleeping with a close relative and having children with too many digits, and the white boy version of R&B singing applied to musak classics.
Oooohhh-oh-woo-haaaah-ah-he-he-haaa-ah.
Self-indulgent pianist making sweet sweet love to a microphone with his saxophonist sidekick honking away Kenny G style in the breaks. Wrong with a capital W.
Made me feel a little nauseous. A little on edge. A little too loudly relieved when they finally stopped and we could think and talk in peace.
So our $5 coffees nearly came with complimentary bleeding from the ears.
Tasteful bleeding though it might have been.
* Term coined to the best of my knowledge by Jay and the Doctor, JJJ Radio, listing sax offenders for public safety.
Thou shalt not drink coffee made by a bartender.
But Miss E had a brainwave and led me by the dirty greasemonkey layperson hand to the lounge of Sofitel Wentworth, 61-101 Phillip Street Sydney. So it’s really a bar. But they get their coffee from elsewhere – trust me, I checked.
Then it started.
Musak. Big time. But what was, I’m certain, meant to be “easy listening” was actually overpowering – too loud, more sax crimes* than you could count without sleeping with a close relative and having children with too many digits, and the white boy version of R&B singing applied to musak classics.
Oooohhh-oh-woo-haaaah-ah-he-he-haaa-ah.
Made me feel a little nauseous. A little on edge. A little too loudly relieved when they finally stopped and we could think and talk in peace.
So our $5 coffees nearly came with complimentary bleeding from the ears.
Tasteful bleeding though it might have been.
* Term coined to the best of my knowledge by Jay and the Doctor, JJJ Radio, listing sax offenders for public safety.
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