I was lying on my bed in my room at Medina Palms in Watamu thinking about a girl — my teenage daughter. Unprovoked, I picked up the hotel phone and dialled 100.
“Why is your bar called The Long Bar?” I asked the lady who answered. She sounded puzzled.
She said, “Please hold.” I held. Someone else came on the line. “Did you want to order something from the bar, sir?” I said no.
I just wanted to know why The Long Bar is called The Long Bar. They said, “Well, it’s because it’s got a very long counter.” Ah, OK, thanks. Long counter.
The AC hummed a whispery lullaby, but another question buzzed in my bonnet. So I called again.
“Excuse me, so when you say a long counter, how long are we talking about?” There was a pause. “I’m sorry, sir?”
I told them we had just spoken about The Long Bar. “Oh, sorry, that must have been my colleague,” they said.
“Would you like to order something?” I said no, thanks. I wanted to know how long the bar is. The bar counter? Yes, the bar counter. [Pause] “Please hold,” they said. I held.
A man came on the line, he sounded chirpy and bushy-tailed like he was hopping on his hind legs like a kangaroo.
“You wanted information about the bar, sir?” I said I did. “How long is the bar counter at The Long Bar?” Without hesitation, he said, “I don’t know, but it can sit 10 people.”
I nodded, tried picturing 10 people seated, elbow to elbow, backs to the room, and drinks on the gorgeous long copper counter.
He then added: “It’s also called the Long Bar because it opens at 6:30 am and closes at 11 pm.” Yeah, that’s a long time.
“Would you like to order something, sir? I make great cocktails.” I said I was a teetotaller. [A blatant lie]. “That’s okay, I make great mocktails too.”
I said I would come and try it out later. [Another lie, only sociopathic men drink mocktails].
