Harald and The Restaurant
Harald. Harald was made fun of as a child. The way he combed his hair back with lots of gel. He tucked in his shirt. His cheeks, always pudgy with his somewhat bucktooth smile. His eyes a bit squinty, it was all very French, which he wouldn’t be conscious of until later on.
As he grew up, he stayed the same. But at least The Restaurant gave him a place to enact his control without being made fun of. The structure of The Restaurant was like his safe haven. He had to have his shirt tucked in and what’s more, he got to make everyone else tuck their shirt in. His staffs’ hair had to be brushed back and leaning on the bar wasn’t allowed. And it was at The Restaurant that the French-ness was made known to him, defined. And once he was aware of it, he couldn’t unsee it, for himself. Suddenly he was very obviously French and everyone else who wasn’t, was not. He saw how it fit perfectly with his role, with his character, and so he massaged it into his being so it was as inhabited as the posture which held his back up straight.
At the restaurant, it was all very international, despite being a London tourist attraction. And its attraction was afternoon tea. Victoria sponge a British classic was said by Italian accents, Eastern European accents, and of course French ones. In fact, many of these that Harald controlled were also French, like a French ring. There was Julian and Adam and Stan and Florian. They were all French, and they knew it.