Olympia

Sauntered by the Olympia today.

It was everything urban rumour said:

It was dark.

It was shabby.

It hadn’t been renovated since 1939.

It had its front windows boarded up.


It had unwritten rules and protocols, about which I was most fortunately briefed beforehand:

1) Step inside the gloom and wait while the old guy lurking out the back of the shop sizes you up.

2) If he likes you, he’ll switch a light on, shuffle out and ask you what you want.

3) Whatever else you ask for, it is compuslory to request a milkshake. This rule is Not Negotiable.

4) You may choose between chocolate, vanilla or strawberry.

5) Chocolate is unlikely to be in stock at the time.

6) Your milkshake will be presented in the old-fashioned brightly colour anodised milkshake cup. (I love these because it makes the drink feel like a proper milkshake).

7) If the gent is grumpy, expect to have the light switched off again as soon as the milkshake is handed over.*

8) Grope your way out (one-handed, because you’re holding your milkshake) to the doorway.

9) Place the empty milkshake cup on a table when you’re finished and then get the hell out.


I would love to know what the story is with this place. It was built as part of the Olympia cinema in the 1930s. The cinema is long gone and the building is crumbling on all sides, but the shop is still here. There are various stories about the place – mostly about how the elderly gent promised his dying wife/brother (depending on which version you hear) that he would keep the shop running until his own death. I don’t even know if this is the same man –it’s reputed to be – or if he’s the son of the man who opened the Olympia.

I’d love to know. But I admit I was a teensy bit too chicken to front up and ask…

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* As you can tell, I was fortunate in this regard, and the chap left the single flouro light on.