We ran into Jim in the local last week. Jim is one of life’s gregarious types and he was in a good mood. His team were doing well and he had a good round on the golf course. But then he remembered the alternator. It cost him £350 this week. Alex asked him how business was. His usually smiley face clouded over. It’s really not good. There’s no business out there. Jim drives a black cab. He gets up at 3.00am and heads for the airport. It’s all these mini cabs he explained. Ken Livingstone really did us no favours. They are all being driven by illegal immigrants. They don’t pay tax or insurance. All the work at the big hotels has dried up. Take a twenty pound fare he said. By the time I have put diesel in the tank, paid the insurance, paid the taxman I would be very lucky if I got £6 from that fare. They don’t pay anything at all. It’s really not good. Bloody immigrants. To change the subject and lighten his mood I asked him about the rugby. He beamed and puffed up with national pride. We are doing bloody great he crowed. We beat Wales, we beat Italy and best of all we beat England. So triple crown here we come. Well, dear reader, as we now know, Jim’s team (and mine) were beaten by a better one on Saturday. Congratulations, Scotland. Not a good weekend for one immigrant group then.
Sunday is a day of church and rest. But we managed neither. One of Alex’s teachers, Lucy, was in a bad way over her ex-husband’s nuptials and the fact that her children have to attend. So we thought the best thing to do was do a tour of London in order to take her mind of her troubles. Lucy, does not do tubes so we had the challenge of doing London by other means. Our first stop was the new St Pancras station. The outlets have more than a whiff of the continent about them and upstairs the wonderful ceiling evokes the glamorous world of rail travel. Yes, it can be done in style. The larger than life sculptures add to the drama of the setting. Alex and I make a note that we must do a trip across the channel before too long. We bussed to the South Bank and boarded one of the oyster clippers to Greenwich. This was a first for us and its wont to criss cross the river picking up passengers at various stops is a strong reminder of the Grand Canal in Venice.
Lucy bore up well enough as we wandered around the market and had a little Sunday lunch. Stress affects the appetite in different ways. Lucy stops eating, Alex reaches for chocolate while I comfort eat. Back at the Embankment we made our way through the trickle of people on the streets to Molly Moggs. There’s nothing quite like a bawdy London drag show to take your mind of an ex husband getting hitched. And it worked. Several vodkas and Abba singalongs had Lucy dancing again. Then she got a text from her 19 year old. They kids were home. She got tearful again so we cut out of the drag and stopped off at the King’s Head in Upper Street where TJ Johnson, a tight little jazz band, were playing. It wasn’t doing anything for Lucy however as we poured glass after glass of water into her. You don’t want to turn up pissed in front of your kids we said. Sobered up and a couple of more buses later, we had to resort to a mini cab (sorry Jim) for the last bit home.
Glad it’s the working week where I’ll get a chance to rest up a bit
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