Piccadilly Line
Found an Internet cafe near the British Museum where I can catch you up on my journey. Flying Business Class definitely has its advantages. I flew on the upper deck of a giant British Airways 7?7, with a chair that slid down to a bed. All the movies, TV, audio you could want (watched a movie), all the champagne, beer, liquor and soft drinks you could want (didn’t want these), all the snacks, chocolate and cookies you could want (didn’t eat these) and all the fresh fruit and nuts you could want (had some of these). I skipped the four course dinner and slept from 9:15 to 11:15, then woke and watched an English Daniel Craig movie, LAYER CAKE, then back to sleep till 4:15, which was around our arrival time in London of 10:00 in the morning.
Took the Underground to Wimbledon station (which is Wimbledon Village–the Wimbledon crowd all got off at Southfields), then a cab to my writer friend Liz’s home on Avondale Road. Liz is actually out of the country, but her friend Veronica is staying in her home, as well, as she welcomed me and gave me the key and a lift to Wimbledon Park, where I ”queued” for Wimbledon at around 2:00 p.m.
You join a line that takes about 3 hours to wend its way to the entrance to Wimbledon, where you can by a ground’s pass to watch whatever tennis is happening. I ended up in line with four fascinating young people–three ”Brindians”–British Indians, whose Indian parents immigrated from Tanzania/Uganda in Africa–and a half English half Chinese young man from Mauritius, which is an island off Madagascar. We were treated to free suntan lotion, which we needed, because the day was beautiful, and free Robinsons, a mixture of apple and black currant juice that’s been served at the umpire’s chair at Wimbledon for 74 years, ever since it was invented in the Wimbledon Locker Room. Tastes great!
We were in line so long the young folks made a beer and champagne run and brought back a couple of six-packs of beer and a couple of bottles of champagne, which were all consumed before I finally had to leave the line at five–within eyeshot of the entrance–to go get ready for the summer party to which I’d been invited. I did have an ice cream on a cone, but British ice cream really is chilled cream and tastes more like a whipped cream on a cone, than what we think of as ice cream.
SUMMER PARTY
Strawberries and Cream
My friends Humphrey and Jonie picked me up at Liz’s house for their friend Jonathan’s annual Summer Party at his home, which is a large apartment in Putney. I got a glass of champagne at the door which was never allowed to empty for the next three-four hours. We were served hors d’oeuvres before the buffet dinner of wild salmon, new potatoes, asparagus and chicken curry with rice. After dinner came a wheel of brie the size of a large pizza and a chunk of stilton cheese the size of a 5-gallon bin of ice cream (yes, FIVE GALLON), served with bread, and of course, my favorite, strawberries and raspberries with cream.
Fascinating people at Jonathan’s party. Humphrey and Jonie know Jonathan from Hong Kong, where they were all journalists together. I met:
A beautiful Swiss banker who speaks six languages, including Russian, with dyed blond hair to her slender waist, a wonderful smile that flashed a diamond in her eyetooth. She got it when she was sixteen along with her best friend, who also turned sixteen.
A criminal lawyer from Hong Kong who reminded me of Ralph Lauren–silver hair and a killer white-bright smile.
A real estate mogul who manages property all over Europe and Asia, who doesn’t quite believe in global warming and loves rugby.
A tall, elegantlly dressed gentleman with a cane who kept kissing my cheeks in the continental style, lamenting because he hadn’t seen me for two years–until I realized he wasn’t our host and he realized I wasn’t his friend.
Charlie, whose sister runs a horse farm south of England. Also spent time in Hong Kong.
I finally got to bed (alone) around midnight, a little jet-lagged. My room is in what we would call the ”garrett” of the house–the top floor, which is covered in overhead windows, all of which were open to the night air. I heard some feral cats fighting, but they sorted it out, and I slept soundly till morning.
Today I’m meeting up with a former student of mine at Barry University who now manages the European offices of the law firm Sullivan & Cromwell for lunch, then touring the British Museum. I have plans to meet up tonight with a friend of my daughter’s who’s with the WTA at Wimbledon Village for some dinner.
Will let you know how it all goes!
