Food, Wine and Chat - Tuesday 10th October 2017

Another pleasant day dawns and I enjoy a leisurely morning before heading to Kingston station to head for central London. I change at Wimbledon to the District Line and find myself sitting next to a bloke who is muttering to himself, making all sorts of facial expressions, tossing his head about, scribbling wildly on a piece of paper and gesticulating in an uncomfortably restrained manner. He is doing all this at once and I’m not sure if he is a genius or a nutter. He is very good looking. 

I glance sideways and notice it is a play script he is holding. Ah, it makes sense now - he must be an actor. Practising on the tube is obviously one way an actor learns all those lines, making productive use of travel time. The words Tam Mutu are watermarked across each page and large chunks of text are highlighted throughout - the part of Carl which he is obviously playing. I assume the play is called Tam Mutu but later investigation reveals it’s actually the guy’s name. He has starred on Broadway and appeared in the West End in Les Miserables, among other things. He doesn’t appear to give a toss what anyone thinks of his public rehearsal. I wish I knew what the play was.

I change trains, heading to Sloane Square, via Parsons Green, scene of a recent bomb attempt. Thoughts of bombs are fleeting, worrying is pointless. I have places to be and the London network is one of the best in the world. The tube trundles on. 
Suddenly I hear live music - a jazz trio is playing When the Saints Go Marching In further down the carriage. They sound pretty good and people peer for a better view. Soon enough they move in our direction; one guy has cap in hand for money. More begging, but this has a worthy performance to warrant it. I am so busy watching them that I lose sight of where we are. I suddenly realise we are stopped at Sloane Square, my stop. I leap up and lurch towards the doors that are about to close. The largest young man I have seen in some time is inadvertently blocking the doorway with his bulk. 

With an “out of my way” squeal reminiscent of Crash Bandicoot I thrust myself around his torso, beneath his armpit and onto the platform. Uh-oh, my  overnight bag (I am staying with another friend tonight) doesn’t quite make it all the way out and gets stuck inside the carriage as the doors close. Aaaargh, do I yank hard and try to get it through that almost-closed gap or, for the sake of safety do I just let go? The thought of my belongings travelling unaccompanied to the other side of town to perhaps never be seen again is more than I can bear and thankfully, in that split second of dilemma, the conductor must see my predicament because the doors open again briefly. I pull the bag through and sigh with relief. It's one of those movie moments and I'm sure all eyes are on me in a "the poor soul" sort of way. I hot-foot it out of there, thankful to have bag in hand. 

I make my way to the restaurant opposite the station to meet Mike who I have done transcription work for for a number of years. We have never met but we have chatted often via email and I feel like I know him rather well. 

We meet and greet and chat easily. We enjoy a delicious lunch with a nice drop of wine and talk about the pleasantries of travel (he loves travel), the anomalies of the property market (he’s a property surveyor) and the vagaries of aging (he's older than me!) 

We are at Côte Brasserie, a well-regarded chain of French-inspired restaurants that is known for its consistently good food. My salad and risotto are excellent. It’s a very busy place, full of well-heeled people in jovial moods. I wonder out loud what brings them here on a Tuesday and what work they might do. “I doubt this lot need to work,” says Mike and we laugh. I think he’s probably right. 
After all, we are in the land of the 80s Sloane Ranger. Mike and I bid each other farewell and I hope next time we meet it might be in NZ. He and his wife love NZ, they have friends in Akaroa. But that's the only place they go. Next time, the north, I suggest and he likes the idea.  Thanks for a lively fun lunch Mike. It was good to finally meet you.

I head into Green Park and wander along Piccadilly, past The Ritz and up through side streets I frequented when I worked in the area back in the early 80s. Through arcades, past designer shops, galleries and road works. There is quite a lot of development going on. It’s a nice warm day and I absolutely do not need my coat. 

I spend a moment looking up at the building where I used  to work - No. 1 New Bond Street, opposite Burlington Arcade. It is now the home of Ralph Lauren. It was a brilliant location to work!

Burlington Arcade

I call into a little pub called The Goat which was a favourite haunt back then. Nothing much has changed except it now has wifi and a broader wine selection. I get out my iPad and rest my weary legs awhile, then wander up Bond Street to meet my friend Alison at 6pm.

We worked together at IPPF in the latter half of the 80s - she worked for the Arab Region, I worked for Europe Region. We’ve always kept in touch. We head to a restaurant in the charming pedestrian enclave that is St Christopher’s Place, tucked behind Oxford Street, not far from where I encountered that initial beggar! 

It’s another Côte Brasserie! We sit outside; it is wonderfully warm and relaxed; people amble by and our French waiter is very attentive. Once again Côte delivers great food and a lively atmosphere.

My crab dish is delicious and the merlot washes it down nicely. Creme brûlée to finish is superb. Having enjoyed an excellent meal and lots of chat with my dear friend who I don't see enough of, it is now time to go. Sitting outside all night was a bonus - yes it's possible in London in October! 

We take the tube to Alison’s home near Ealing. We chat with her husband Orfan and son Sami who I last saw 10 years ago. He is now a delightful young man aged 23. 

The bed is comfy and I sleep well.

Thank you Alison for a lovely evening, reminiscing and catching up. 

OBSERVATION OF THE DAY:

The Evening Standard is free to pick up every afternoon - there are piles of them everywhere. It always used to be hawked by newspaper boys calling out and enticing you to flick them a coin and grab a rag.

Also Metro and Time Out Magazine everywhere, as they always were. Reading any of these is a good way to while away the daily commute and catch up on things - from the latest Brexit news to trivial Royal gossip, from dubious pictures of Boris-on-tour to in-your face advertising. 

Theresa May is not currying much favour it seems and there is definitely some voters’ remorse as Brexit negotiations go nowhere slowly. The EU is certainly not making it easy for the Brits to escape. 

With Alison at Cote in St Christopher's Place