Bar Wanque
Place
Stokes Croft hipster bar. Intimate, expensive and thickly upholstered in beards, coffee and self-regard.
Appears in
- Helix Folt, the Conservative chapters:
- Odour Issues chapters:
- Pretty Poli chapters:
Connections
Who is found here
- Don Quicksotte frequented by (2 passages)
- Sir Hearty Luncheon ← passes by (1 passage)
What is found here
- Lexus ← passes by (1 passage)
From the books (7 passages)
…Finding no trace of him at either the table set aside for hipsters in Bar Wanque or the reclaimed ecclesiastical pew set aside for funding application scribes in the Ghastly Hipster opposite Turbo Island, he had turned his attention to the City Centre, but had drawn a blank in the Toreau et Ourse in Millennium Square, and another one in Beige on the Triangle.
He found himself passing Bar Wanque. The condensation eternally upon its windows. Function of like warm air meeting a cool surface. Like even now in this heat; like how’s that? Like my sweating I spose. Heat’s muggy anyway. Humidity what causes it. They want to turn down the thermostat. That, and stop selling cappuccino to hipster cunts. All that fuckin’ steam. Like let them drink tay, is what his Lordship…
…lucorum mutandum junctioning Ashley Road, it took its sussurant repose upon the camber opposite the steaming windows of Bar Wanque, whereupon Sir Hearty Luncheon’s gaze chanced to settle upon certain vey desolate personages smoking angrily on the pavement.
Miss Minerva Ledwitch, today as often in company with Mr Don Quicksotte, took her lunchtime repast in Bar Wanque, an establishment some metres further up Stokes Croft from the Ghastly Hipster, smaller and arguably more intimate, withal catering to a similar clientele of Edwardian beards and ridiculously tight trousers. At the adjacent table anomalously sat four or five booted and luminously-jacketed gentlemen, hard of countenance and rough in their ways,…
…Crass Cheseham at one of the deliberately rickety tables set aside for hipsters, behind the steaming windows of Bar Wanque.
Mr Don Quicksotte, assaying to extricate himself from clasp of Ledwitch, quit the purlieus of Bar Wanque. Now bethinking himself that he might while in the vicinity acquaint himself with the progress of the siege at … er … Squattocrat Towers, to this purpose thither bent his steps.
…For the second time, gentlemen in hi-viz jackets patronised Bar Wanque, and sat at the table set aside for non-hipsters, and ordered cardiovascular doom from the special menu for non-hipsters, and spat and wiped their noses with their sleeves, and filled the air with the foulest epithets, palely imitated and leavened with ‘likes’ by the disgusting bohemians sitting at the deliberately rickety tables set aside for hipsters.