“Ooooo , sometimes I get a good feeling, yeeeaaaahhhhhh”
It’s another cloudy Saturday morning. I’m trotting towards the tube station in N’s typical style. It’s nearly 11am and I have a bit over an hour left to get to the salon I made my appointment with. The appointment for my new haircut, that is. The bus stops just as I pass by the bus station but I decide to ignore it in order to pop into a shop for a take away coffee. The truth is I woke up really late this morning, barely managed to fix my hair and put some makeup on before rushing out of the house. Breakfast was out of the question, sadly it usually is… The tube arrives just as I make it to the station and as I managed to find my oyster card without digging too much through my shoulder bag, I actually climb on the first train. Looks like I will make it on time after all. I sit down, happily sipping from my first coffee of the day.
And after experiencing some minor delays on the C line, I make it to the salon just on time. For some reason, I never really liked all the processes involving cutting my hair. Still, there are a few pleasant bits, like the head massage I got and the cute stylist who cut my hair this time around. But the bad part of it was having to listen to some fat and loud lady how, she pretends, used to work in the film industry in Hollywood but quit and moved here instead for… well… a very long list of reasons.
One hour and a half later I am out of the salon, happy with my new look but not as pleased with the wind blowing it in all directions. I decide to head toward the National Gallery, it’s been a while since I stopped by. I haven’t checked what they have on but it is within walking distance (London walking distance) and I’m sure I will find something to enjoy. Not surprisingly, Oxford Street is packed with shoppers and I narrowly escape from bumping into people at every step. The noise and movement still surprise me even after being here for so long. I take some back streets instead, to avoid the hustle and bustle.
I enter a little shop, attracted by the French music. The place is packed but a smiling shop assistant offers me her help. I am quite surprised, for some reason this doesn’t happen too often. The quality of service is rather poor in this city. The best excuse I could come up with is because London is full of tourists who come once and never return. It doesn’t really matter if you’re nice to them or not, sales figures will be the same. As expected, I buy myself a red, little something.
Back on the street, my stomach reminds me I have had my last meal the day before. A slight headache is installing as well and I quickly change my plan. Priority number one: breakfast. Well, lunch… I stop at this little French restaurant whose menu I am familiar with and I order my usual prawn, guacamole and salsa tartines. It is quite odd to eat out alone but I do enjoy it. Two ladies next to me are trying to have a conversation on guys and headache pills. One is Asian and the other is Eastern European. Neither of them speaks or understands a lot of English so they are both talking and smiling, pretending to understand the other. I sip from my Prosecco until my tartines arrive and I can elegantly dive in. I forget about the conversation at the nearby table but I do notice the tall guy sitting across, at a different table. He is facing me and talking to his girlfriend/partner/friend/co-worker. Is he staring at me or is it just my imagination? I focus on my food. I receive a text and it looks like I will have a packed afternoon tomorrow. I look ahead and the guy smiles and says “hello”. The lady he was with wasn’t there anymore. I say “hi” back and see to my food. A few minutes later the lady reappears and gives him a big kiss. They leave together while he turns his head and winks at me. What a hypocrite!
Back on the street the wind is blowing badly and my curls are a little bit less defined. Leicester Square is filled with people shouting and singing. I recognize the Catalan flags and the football club T-shirts: Barcelona is playing tonight. I can’t work out who they are playing against though. Trafalgar Square is filled with supporters as well and I can hear them cheering as I walk up the stairs of the gallery. My headache is fading away.
I pick up the “what’s on” guide and choose a George Bellows and Ashcan painters exhibition. The New York landscapes remind me of images from movies while the landscapes from Main send me to the world of Huckleberry Finn. My phone goes off as I admire the last painting and I hurry outside. Looks like I will be busy tomorrow morning as well. I scan through the guide again but decide to leave. I often find it hard to concentrate on more than one exhibition during a visit to a gallery/museum, without a break.
It’s gone colder outside. I make my way towards Charring Cross where I know a little Starbucks that shouldn’t be too crowded. R’s words echo in my head: “every change starts with a haircut”. I listen to a tango from the Burlesque soundtrack as I pass by the Salsa Club. It’s been so long since I last went dancing! Memories fill my head.
The Starbucks isn’t too crowded. With a mocha frappe on one side, I slip away into my book. If I ever had any thoughts about working on a tropical island, they are all gone as my book uncovers the less glamorous aspects of working in a tropical paradise. I am absorbed by the story while a quick rain comes and goes.
Two chapters later my phone rings. I always love chatting to N but this time I can’t understand a word! I don’t know how to turn the volume higher on this antique phone! My bb is broken and I got a complimentary phone in return until mine is fixed. I miss my bb! I think I say that about a hundred times a day! I pack my things and head towards the tube. The sun is out and London is ever so crowded. I suddenly regret having turned down the party invitation I received yesterday.
