SO we have sweet potato fritters at the tiny table by the counter as Michael Jackson shrills and thrills through the sound system and various bemused-looking people shuffle in and shuffle back out again trying to work out what the hell is going on.

I can see where they are coming from. We’ve been here for 40 minutes and we’re still wondering why the Blue Chair has been turned into a junk shop today. As we both take turns trying a handmade fish finger wrap – crisp fish, tartare sauce and toasted tortilla; it's not bad actually – people bump against our table looking at gift cards on another table. Nobody buys any. Behind us a woman shares three quarters of her already miniscule table with a slice of cake and piles of secondhand DVDs. I see nobody even looking at these. There’s a heap of secondhand clothes over by the window which seem actually to be repelling people.

Ah, hang on, the Blue Chair has not been turned into a junk shop since the last time I was here. There's a jumble sale on. Or so the woman with the blue hair tells us as she eventually brings us a bowl of spiced dal and rice. Earlier we'd swithered over whether to have cajun bacon and bean soup or spinach soup, but went for a stack of pancakes instead. The pancakes are pretty good and sensibly priced; the dal, which is advertised as “spiced dal”, would be better if it was more strongly spiced and perhaps had some salt in it but you can’t have everything. The fish fingery things we liked, and the corn-dusted fritters were great.

Having eaten here twice before, on both occasions leaving baffled at whether this was a commercial enterprise or a kind of hippy dippy indulgence, I know the woman with the blue hair can cook. She’s pretty good, in fact. Today, however, she is distracted. We know this because we sat for rather a long time when we came in and waited to be served. Around us there were people at tables with no food or drinks. Although the reason for that was not immediately apparent, it turns out this is because today the Blue Chair is in the process of being saved. And many of those people are here to save it.

Below the painting of Elvis Costello, to the left of the fish tank and to the right of the crushed Irn-Bru can collage, is a little hand-written sign proclaiming meekly Save the Blue Chair. Umm. One of the problems of being world-weary and cynical is I can’t held noticing now that all the Blue Chair saviours – and there seem to be a good few of them – with their knitted jumpers and woolly hats are not only inadvertently making the place look freezing cold to passers-by, but in the process of saving the place they are actually occupying all – make that both – the best tables. And most of them don’t seem to be eating or drinking a thing.

Potential customers have come in and left; one couple were despatched to ludicrously small seats outside with just some old clothes and a pair of secondhand bright-red 1980s Kickers for company; and an older geezer who wandered in alone has been subsumed by the saviours at a tight table by the corner. Though to be fair he seems to be enjoying this.

Another of the problems of being world-weary and cynical is that you only get half the picture. As we’re leaving, I'm told regular punters have raked in much of the £4,000 already raised to settle the £11,000 bill and stop the doors being shut here, though that eviction may still be happening soon.

Will the Blue Chair be saved? I dunno. But if it is, ignore the sideshow and try the food. It can be pretty good.

The Blue Chair

85 High Street, Glasgow (0141 552 7849)

Menu: If it remains open it should be a sort of Pacific Rim meets Glasgow High Street menu with occasional flashes of very good stuff. 4/5

Atmosphere: Whether it's hippy dippy or eclectic and wonderful depends on your outlook. Apparently you can bring your guitar. Different and rarely dull. 4/5

Service: There was a Save the Blue Chair jumble sale going on when we were in so the service was hopeless, but generally it’s fine and friendly. 3/5

Price: The soup costs £2.50, the fish finger wrap less than a fiver but the eggs florentine costs £8. Confusing. 3/5

Food: Has its moments and based on my three visits there are signs that somebody can cook well, but there's not enough focus on the food as yet. 7/10

Total: 21/30