The entrance deliberately tried not to be trendy but it was hard to find a doorway in that part of town that wasn't. Understatement still wasn't over yet but still, brash, flashing neon signs were so horribly last month. In fact, the only clue that it was a functioning building at all came from the faded post-it note nestled apologetically under the doorbell. And even that was achingly, trendily subtle. Only three neat letters: M.O.R. on display.
In contrast however, the rest of the urban High Street was as self-consciously fashionable as always. Music from the deepest Congo blended into retro Manchester Baggy Indie Dance which in turn melted into New World Brazilian Urban Salsa mixes. It blared out in a self-conscious fusion from the minimalistic salons and stylish shops selling rune stones and crystals and pipes and limited edition vinyl - all ironically overpriced, obviously. Assistants with shaved hair, indigo hair, mismatched dreadlocks and peroxide mullets paraded in the windows: a careful line-up of preening fashionistas - all desperate to win the daily Dismissive Nonchalance competition. And as for the coffee, well, no-one could move a Millennial beard whisker for the all the frappuccino, crappuccino, skinny , malted, foamy, soya bean double lattes (no sprinkles, thanks) - all derived from Fair Trade farmers in Nepal, Niagra or Neptune, naturally.
Lunch was a choice of sous vide samphire, salsify and morels or distressed, deconstructed, crostini, bird-seeded flatbread drizzled with honeyed, Peruvian Alpaca cheese on a citrus milk infused soil. No-one under twenty-five dared to exist in this borough - anyone who wasn't a model/actor/reality-show puppet of course.
Ebony Rainbow could see Dax Leroy strolling ahead of her. His ironic, purple and polka-dotted Mohican didn't stand out much in the late afternoon crowds but she knew it was him straightaway. She adjusted her original, vintage 1920s dressing gown with the fake fur/real fur/plastic fur collar and dropped her biodegradable, worldly-sustainable, carbon-friendly lunch carton in the bin before checking the recycled post-it note on the door and entering the building after him. They silently walked through the network of tunnels; visibly relaxing as the walls changed from Warhol prints to plain, comforting magnolia.
And then they were safely inside; ripping off wigs, removing make-up and shedding designer clothes in favour of plain jeans and jumpers. Everyone else in the room was doing the same. The feeling was euphoric. They collapsed into the beige armchairs and rested bare feet on beige foot-stools. Ebony Rainbow produced a packet of Rich-Teas and removed her ridiculous gown. A cheer broke out across room as Dax gratefully stuffed his leather bracelets deep down into his trendy satchel . He added it to the growing pile of other accessories shoved behind the screen in the corner.
Ebony fished the tupperware container out of her ironic Hello Kittyrucksack and placed it carefully on the coffee table. Before peeling back the lid, she suddenly remembered - and removed her facial studs. Someone handed her the upturned bowler hat, where she found her real name again, pinning the badge happily to her chest.
Dax walked past her, shaving off his beard with an electric razor from the collective safe. Ebony couldn't help staring, she couldn't believe how quickly it grew every month. Dax hummed along with the persistent buzz. Pressure seemed to float away from his face with every hair.
"Ham or cheese this week, Graham?" Claire asked him, offering the soggy, chemical bread. Graham smiled at the absence of organic sour dough. "Er, I don't suppose you made any corned beef this week?"
Claire shook her head and blushed a little. "No, I'm so sorry. It's so hard to get hold of these days. And expensive."
"Oh. I'm so sorry, not to worry. " Graham touched his mohican a little awkwardly.
Claire smiled another apology, relishing the polite tension in the room. It reminded her of being back in her parent's lounge, back in the easy days when she was still young and unaffected. Before she had to become pretentious. Before Ebony and Dax were invented.
Brushing away the last remnants of his Millennial beard, Graham cleared his throat and walked up the steps to the raised platform at the front of the room.
Someone locked the door and the meeting began.
"Welcome back to Middle of the Road Club," he announced as everyone politely sipped their tea and smiled in collective relief.
In contrast however, the rest of the urban High Street was as self-consciously fashionable as always. Music from the deepest Congo blended into retro Manchester Baggy Indie Dance which in turn melted into New World Brazilian Urban Salsa mixes. It blared out in a self-conscious fusion from the minimalistic salons and stylish shops selling rune stones and crystals and pipes and limited edition vinyl - all ironically overpriced, obviously. Assistants with shaved hair, indigo hair, mismatched dreadlocks and peroxide mullets paraded in the windows: a careful line-up of preening fashionistas - all desperate to win the daily Dismissive Nonchalance competition. And as for the coffee, well, no-one could move a Millennial beard whisker for the all the frappuccino, crappuccino, skinny , malted, foamy, soya bean double lattes (no sprinkles, thanks) - all derived from Fair Trade farmers in Nepal, Niagra or Neptune, naturally.
Lunch was a choice of sous vide samphire, salsify and morels or distressed, deconstructed, crostini, bird-seeded flatbread drizzled with honeyed, Peruvian Alpaca cheese on a citrus milk infused soil. No-one under twenty-five dared to exist in this borough - anyone who wasn't a model/actor/reality-show puppet of course.
Ebony Rainbow could see Dax Leroy strolling ahead of her. His ironic, purple and polka-dotted Mohican didn't stand out much in the late afternoon crowds but she knew it was him straightaway. She adjusted her original, vintage 1920s dressing gown with the fake fur/real fur/plastic fur collar and dropped her biodegradable, worldly-sustainable, carbon-friendly lunch carton in the bin before checking the recycled post-it note on the door and entering the building after him. They silently walked through the network of tunnels; visibly relaxing as the walls changed from Warhol prints to plain, comforting magnolia.
And then they were safely inside; ripping off wigs, removing make-up and shedding designer clothes in favour of plain jeans and jumpers. Everyone else in the room was doing the same. The feeling was euphoric. They collapsed into the beige armchairs and rested bare feet on beige foot-stools. Ebony Rainbow produced a packet of Rich-Teas and removed her ridiculous gown. A cheer broke out across room as Dax gratefully stuffed his leather bracelets deep down into his trendy satchel . He added it to the growing pile of other accessories shoved behind the screen in the corner.
Ebony fished the tupperware container out of her ironic Hello Kittyrucksack and placed it carefully on the coffee table. Before peeling back the lid, she suddenly remembered - and removed her facial studs. Someone handed her the upturned bowler hat, where she found her real name again, pinning the badge happily to her chest.
Dax walked past her, shaving off his beard with an electric razor from the collective safe. Ebony couldn't help staring, she couldn't believe how quickly it grew every month. Dax hummed along with the persistent buzz. Pressure seemed to float away from his face with every hair.
"Ham or cheese this week, Graham?" Claire asked him, offering the soggy, chemical bread. Graham smiled at the absence of organic sour dough. "Er, I don't suppose you made any corned beef this week?"
Claire shook her head and blushed a little. "No, I'm so sorry. It's so hard to get hold of these days. And expensive."
"Oh. I'm so sorry, not to worry. " Graham touched his mohican a little awkwardly.
Claire smiled another apology, relishing the polite tension in the room. It reminded her of being back in her parent's lounge, back in the easy days when she was still young and unaffected. Before she had to become pretentious. Before Ebony and Dax were invented.
Brushing away the last remnants of his Millennial beard, Graham cleared his throat and walked up the steps to the raised platform at the front of the room.
Someone locked the door and the meeting began.
"Welcome back to Middle of the Road Club," he announced as everyone politely sipped their tea and smiled in collective relief.