April 28 | London

We arrived in London last night and after checking into our hotel, met Bill’s sister in law at her house in Chelsea. Cute neighborhood. Full of book stores, fromageries, old hardware stores, florists, pubs and restaurants. Everything you could ask for.

We ended up hitting several pubs and restaurants and ended up in a Scottish bar that Bill likes called Doon.

So throughout the day we’d been to Tsum, Gum, and Doon.

We vow to get up early tomorrow and head to Knotting Hill and have a walk down Prospect Road. If you ever saw the movie with Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts, this is the area where he walks around. Lots of shops and stands.

We got up a little late, but were up nonetheless. We walked towards Parliament and caught the Tube near Westminster. It was a beautiful, sunny, warm day so of course everyone and their mother were out.


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London is like New York in that it can be hard to find people who actually speak as if they’re from there. You can spend a lot of time in New York and not hear a New York accent. Same holds true for London. Much of the service staff at hotels and restaurants are immigrants. The black taxi’s are all native Londoners, but otherwise, it’s anybody’s guess.


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Walking down Portobello Road from the Tube station was a bit of a nightmare. It was simply wall-to-wall people. We shuffled down the street en masse which seemed pointless. I couldn’t see anything to the left or right of me and I hate crowds. It was like being in the airport. We finally broke free after several blocks and found a pub on the corner. There were outdoor tables in the sun, but what our chances of getting one might be was anyone’s guess.


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The pub was called The Duke of Wellington, and the table farthest from the crowds and nearest the door was occupied by two British gentleman. Two people who had been sitting at the table with them got up and left. I asked if they minded if we joined them and they welcomed us with open arms. It was the best move of the trip. That was the last we saw of London, because until we had to leave for the airport, that’s where we sat.


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First, there was Joe, a likable fellow in his fifties. He was, as it turned out, also in advertising, but more of a director. He lived around the corner. Joe was nonstop laughs. Not just that he was funny, but he wore a perpetual grin. A little devious maybe.


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Next was Jim. Also in his fifties. Also lived nearby. And he was also in advertising, but as an art director. Jim and Joe had been friends for years and appeared to get on very well with one another. As the day grew on, Jim became harder and harder for me to understand. I always got the gist of what he was saying, but he used so much slang, that he could talk for 20-30 seconds without me understanding a word he was saying. It was brilliant.


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Joe informed us that this table was the Pole Position, a racing term to signify the best position. He was absolutely right. We sat in the sun, drank cold cider, smoked hand-rolled cigarettes and watched the world go by. It was one of the best days I’ve ever had. The guys were funny as hell, and we laughed and talked and drank.


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Before we left, we exchanged email addresses and vowed to keep in touch, and ring them next time we were going to be in London. I can’t imagine a better plan.

So, Joe and Jim? Thanks for a great day. You made my trip.