About
Long, long ago in a time almost forgotten; well it's really only about three years, but our memories are not what they used to be. Greg, whilst riding his trusty treadly (bike) around the back streets of Fitzroy, happened upon an interesting bluestone building with stain glass windows and pink awnings. It was not the first time this curious little building had caught his eye, and, as happens, it was still up for lease. On a personal dare, thinly disguised as self improvement, Greg rang the real estate agent with the view to wandering though this curio that time appeared to have forgotten. He believed he was lying "I'm looking at opening a bar, cafe type thing".
Once inside, Greg lost touch with reality and was swept away with the charm and gaudiness of its glossy ticky-tacky interior. Dizzy with ambitions of grandeur and agog with the notion of being the captain of one's own ship, Greg rang Marc, an old and trusted friend. Marc had, for many years now, been telling anyone one who would listen that his ultimate dream was to own a bar, thus ensuring an everlasting supply of his favourite beverage; BEER.
That first phone call, though tainted with miscommunication (as Marc could not quite grasp the idea that opportunity was knocking) was, as they say, the beginning of a beautiful (not always harmonious) relationship.
Needless to say, Marc too was blinded by the heady excitement and potential that shone brightly off the wooden floorboards. He was whisked away like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, proclaiming that this small awkward enclave with a bordello's facade would one day equal the great bars of his native Amsterdam. Marc had a vision "Awww" he said "it be, sooo, great if we, one day, had a hundred different BEERS in the fridge".
It was by now August 2000 and after much dithering Greg and Marc handed over a cheque which secured their interests at 135 Greeves St Fitzroy. There were months of negotiations re: the fine points of the lease and license, all extremely boring stuff, this however gave the boys time to debate a name. It was all well and good to be the proud news leasers of a dinky little house of hops, but what do you call it? Many names and bad puns; ie barhumbug, el barrio, etc were bandied about but nothing seemed to be quite right. Enter Paul Huntingford, a friend and comic of mild geniuses, who said, "I've wanted to call a bar THE LAMBSGO BAR". The beautiful subtlety of the joke was lost on Greg and so it had to be explained. Marc too, had cognitive difficulties, as apparently, in Holland, lambs go "MAAAA".
The word 'brief' is maybe a little misleading as the story is still only half written so please stay tuned for the next exciting instalment of twists, turns and petty observations that created the Lambsgo Bar.
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