This is where the story left off two days ago. The three people to the left have left, my anticipated pen pal and the couple from Hannover. My attention returns to A and B seated on my right. They have enjoyed the roast of the day, they are finished and their plates are removed. My jottings of contain the following observation, in capital letters: THEY DID NOT EAT THEIR BROCCOLI EITHER. The staff is constantly teasing me about my aversion to vegetables in general, but broccoli in particular. Ha! It is just not me. Other people do not like broccoli either.
Broccoli
A and B ask for the bill as they have finished their food (except for the broccoli) They have paid the bill but as they leave they engage in conversation. People always ask me where i am from, I guess because of my accent. (I don’t think I have one.) I always respond quickly and reassuredly: “I was born in Canada but in 1967 I went to live in San Francisco and I lived there until 2014 when I came to live in London. “Do you live here now?” “Yes, I live nearby in Dolphin Square.” B says: “I live in Dolphin Square.” That is the first surprise. The conversation veers off to the biography of my uncle, born in Scotland. “Where,?” ”Kirkcaldy” A is from Kirkcaldy, and she might be a treasure trove of information because her grandmother founded the first football team in Kirkcaldy! I am amazed, my uncle played football and became a sports writer in Saskatchewan. So the second surprise is the Kirkcaldy connection. For some reason I dutifully write B’s name on my hand – honestly I have no idea why I wrote it there as there must have been paper somewhere around. I go back to Dolphin Square and get B’s address. The next day I write a note suggesting that the three of us together for lunch and talk about the Kirkcaldy connection. I hand deliver it to her mailbox. I have not heard back and now it is almost two months ago. Is this a surprise?
A certain staff member shook his head as I left the restaurant that day and said: “Alexis I don’t believe you! You trash these women and then suddenly you are friends with them!?!” I say something intelligent like: “Well, yeah!”
So almost two months have passed since that eventful day. Three days ago I get a letter in my mailbox. It is from from C. It is a sweet letter. That is a huge surprise, a welcome surprise but there are two major problems. I can barely read his handwriting. So this hand written communication may not be such a good idea. He suggests we get together for lunch when he is next in London on business. Problem? Yes, as he is planning to return at the end of March, Where will I be? Canada. How can one have a written international correspondence at my age. I will die of old age before anything gets off the ground.
The problem with this story is that it is true.
