mercoledì 21 agosto 2013

Down the memory lane, riding cabs in London - Summer 2013 (Part 2/3)

Next morning, after spending a lovely evening catching up with Claire Mu and Dimitris Mu, I hop on a cab heading to Covent Garden to meet Emma. We have some wedding planning to do for September.

Covent Garden, as always is a magical place, with magical creatures. No kidding!
After coffee, I hop on another cab and head to Exmouth Market area, to The Easton for Sunday Roast. There I meet Louise, Meena, Tom Tom, Emily and we are later joined by Claire, Dimitris, Will, GA (also known as Gian Andrea) and Rasoul (who came even though he was fasting- what a star that boy is). This was an excellent day. The sun was shining, we were a group of friends having a laugh, eating good food,

drinking nice wine (Prosecco for the record and 11 bottles too many, but we were a large group...).

As always, when  my gals and I are together, we are trouble. This is especially true if Claire is involved.

So, I always brag about speaking many languages. What I fail to mention is that I know some of them just enough to get in trouble but not enough to get out of trouble. This was an excellent example:
The waiter at the Easton (who I disliked as soon as he felt the need to drop in his conversation that he had a girlfriend- not sure why he the urge to lay it out there, as if any of us was making a move on him) looked familiar, or more precisely he looked like someone I knew. He brings us the bill and - in perfect London style - we all paid by cards. At least six. So, when he comes over with his little machine, I turn to Claire and in French (just to be discreet of course and because British boys only speak English) I tell her: "Not bad looking, hu? Don't you think he looks like "Big Jim?" (BJ is a jaw dropping and friend of Claire whom I had dated for a while. The most handsome man I have ever been out with and most probably the most handsome I will ever date).

By saying that I did not realise I had just opened a can of worms. In fact, to this she replies (naturally in French, because she is also discreet and British boys only speak English), noticing that to be funny the waiter was trying to put all the cards in the cash device at once: "oh, yes indeed, and just like BJ he is trying to push it all in at once!). Of course I burst into laughter and so did she. No one else did because no one at the table spoke French or because they were not paying attention. Actually, one was. The waiter! Whom, with an impeccable almost flawless French talks back to us and says: "Am so glad I amuse you. Who is BJ?"
Even though no one spoke French, everyone's head turned, because:
it was no secret we were talking about him (we are discreet remember?) ;
it was no secret we were saying something naughty;
it was unexpected  to get a French reply from a British boy!! Oh man, what an embarrassment...Why did we find one of the rare British waiters in London who lived 7 years in Paris?

Thankfully, Claire did a good job minimising the whole situation and telling the waiter to be flattered that he was compared to BJ.

That evening ended in another pub in the area after sampling more bottles of Prosecco, wine and the like. What a beautiful day. We ate, drank, talked, laughed, walked down the memory lane, and then we said goodbye for the day. By the time we all went home, the sun had disappeared and it started raining. A lot. And again, Louise and I hop on a cab and head home... (to be continued).

1 commento:

  1. Are you now in London?
    How long will you be there?


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