The double-glazed glass doors hush apart and I enter the purple and black sheen of the Epping Club. It’s a quiet Sunday evening and somewhere in this cathedral of light entertainment a piano is playing something soft and digestible. Perhaps Burt Bacharach, something my mother would have approved of.
I spot my old friend sitting on a grey couch tipping away at his phone, probably tending to some urgent request from one of his teenage sons.
‘Evening Rob. What’s the special?’
Rob stands and we bump Covid-friendly elbows.
‘I always go for the fish and chips.’
We QR-code our way from the reception and pass through into the bistro. It’s a small crowd of locals well-versed in social distancing, spread out through the bistro, along the bar and amongst the kerchinking pokies.
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