Ole and Steen just opened another branch at 92 Notting Hill Gate. But why should you care? Why should any of us care? Besides from this news being somewhat compelling, in the way that the opening of a shop always stirs an enticing sensation in the stomach, it does not seem in the least bit peculiar or anything to fret over. But please, join me, as we dumpster-dive into the peculiarity of this news.
Curses and superstition are a controversial topic in society; a matter which can give way to a rather fervent debate amongst a group of friends. However, human beings adore certainty. We latch on to it as if it is our life line; the IV drip feeding our peace of mind. So ultimately, when a sequence of events are connected with undeniable similarity, coincidence does not quite cut it for humans.
This seems to be precisely what is happening at 92 - 94 Notting Hill Gate. Every two to four years, a new shop will open, basking in all its glory as it lures the flocks of commuters coming out of Notting Hill Gate station. However, the curse of 92 - 94 Notting Hill Gate will soon lower itself upon the shop (which has previously been reviewed as the "Best Danish Bakery" on tripadvisor), forming a dull haze upon its reverly; seemingly masking it in a cloak of repulsion which is impenetrable by the people of Notting Hill. Soon enough, without final goodbyes, the shop will slip from Notting Hill’s grip. From that moment on, the building exists in an apprehensive suspension of time; the boarded up windows a tragic warning from the previous owner at the inevitable, somber end any hopeful shop owner will ultimately exhibit.
Nathalie van Lanshcot, a resident of Notting Hill and frequent commuter to Notting Hill Gate, has said she is “excited for the opening”. However, the real question is how quickly will this Ole and Steen be yet another tombstone in the graveyard of the curse, joining WHSmith and Recipease by Jamie Oliver; which nwo merely exist in memory as something to warn off anyone who tries to prey on this position on Notting Hill Gate. How soon will it be before the dulcet smell of pastries, which lures commuters fleeing the tube station, will dissolve into nothing more than a memory? The wait begins.
