It was ten years ago, that I met Jim on my trip to Mykonos to celebrate my...ah...fourth decade of my birth. Like my friend Serge, whom I've known since 1989, Jim and I haven't seen each other regularly. But, as I've always said, a friendship should be easy and never a lot of work. If you can't pick up where you last left off and still be good friends, then you need to reexamine what keeps you together. Jim met my mom and I for what I thought was just going to be a drink, but after he asked us how up we were for walking, we were off for a whirlwind tour of the city. From Big Ben to Buckingham Palace to St. James Park to Trafalgar Square, SoHo, Leicester Sq, the Golden Jubilee Bridge and more, Jim was a wealth of facts, figures and humor as he maneuvered us through the onslaught of crowds to picture perfect photo opps that impressed Rosemarie so much, she suggested he charge for walking tours.
Since it has been years since I've seen all these sites, I welcomed the chance to visit them all again. And, in between, Jim and I commiserated on the scenery, which did not include the landmarks you are imagining. We have other visuals that make us marvel at London. The one thing I did not enjoy? I could surely do without what seemed to be the millions of pigeons dive bombing and flying recklessly over my head and into my line of sight. At one point, one nasty flying creature threatened to mar the Disney-esque cottage we saw across from the Winston Churchill War Room.
In between the tour, we treated my mother to her first English Pub at a fabulous little place called The Princess of Wales. To me, this is London, and the one place where my drink of choice is any type of ale or beer that I cannot find in America. Yes, vodka is forgotten by me here and this pub, with its dark cherry bar, multitude tap beers and customers scouring for free tables and booths along with a sea of people out on the sidewalk was exactly what I wanted Rosemarie to experience.We so enjoyed ourselves that as we continued through the West End, we made another pub stop at one with a most decidedly male clientele. And, among it all, there my mother sat, drinking her wine (and water), surrounded by boys whom like their Los Angeles counterpoints, have no time for me. To be fair, despite being tipsy, I was a bit too tired to turn on my full charm. I do wish I'd said something to the dark hair,meticulously dressed boy in the blue shirt and size 29 inch waist. (Youth is even more cruel here than I could have imagined.) As a side note, if you think babies and dogs are good conversation starters, try bringing your mother to a pub. Trust me, it could have worked wonders if I played my deck of cards better.
With the sun still out and not relinquishing the daylight to its nemesis until 22:30, my mom and I felt like we'd been up for a week. We left the West End, walked Jim to his tube stop and made the now familiar walk back to our hotel. Along the way, we looked right and left, keeping our tiring eyes out for a "cheap and cheerful" place for dinner whilst rushing back to the Marble Arch, because there wasn't a loo in sight and, after beer and wine and more beer and wine, one was needed - and fast. As it was, it was the WC in the Hilton lobby that was our savior. There was just no time to wait for that lift.
Now, finally able to walk without squeezing to prevent an accident, my mom and I made a quick change for dinner. We didn't have to go far to find great place on Christopher Place. The two of us had one of our great one-on-one dinners and I again was so grateful to the universe that I could once again take my mom to Europe.
"Ah, you've been out for awhile now."
"Was I?" she said before she immediately fell back asleep.
Tomorrow, it's day two and as long as the pigeons keep out of my way of a loo, we will all be safe.
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