The Walrus was Paul

Saturday, June 13, 2009

Massachusetts arrival minus 2 days.
We must get the Flat on Abbey Road ready for viewing by possible new tenants while we are away. So what do I decide to do once up and dressed on Saturday morning? "Hoovering? Dusting? Scrubbing the shower stall? No! Taking Hubster's shirts to the cleaners, of course!
I thought I'd combine this trip with the purchase of a Grande Iced Vanilla Latte at Starbucks, drop off an overdue library book, and donate some too-tight shoes to the Hospice Charity Shop.

I hit the library and the shop, then strolled on up the Hi street, stopping in both Boots (the Chemist) and a small independent pharmacy in search of hair-do combs for keeping the hair off the face. I had no luck in either shop, so I dropped off and picked up shirts and prepared to quench my thirst. Alas, the queue at Starbucks at 11:30 am on a Saturday was out the door and I was carrying a heavy bundle of shirts, so I had no patience for the wait. Off I trundled toward Circus Road. I figured that I'd stop by the street the new flat is on and take a photo of the front of the building. As I was about to cross the top of Cavendish Ave, who should appear there but it's most famous resident, Sir Paul You-Know-Who. He was wearing HUGE dark glasses and had his "don't bother me" mask on. I decided that this time, the FOURTH sighting, I would not cast my eyes to the ground in response to his Jedi Mind Trick, so looked right at him and allowed a slight smile to curl one lip. His hair was a bit shaggier but the dye job still a bit obvious. I hope mine is not that bad... He could see my bundle of shirts that I had slung over my back, so I hope that he realizes I belong in the neighborhood, if I even register at all on his "faces in the crowd" radar. He was being tailed by two "traffic warden" types in yellow vests, who were in the neighborhood due to the REALLY BIG CRICKET GAME being played at Lord's Cricket Ground at the end of Sir Paul's street. I don't know if they were tailing him on purpose or just happened to be there. Of course I will always respect his wish to be left alone, but it still gives me a big boost to pass him on the street.

I went to Elm Tree Road and took the requisite photos, then slogged back across Circus Road to the Hospital of St. John and St. Elizabeth. Their pharmacy is open until 1 pm on Saturdays, and I needed to score another pair of travel/support socks for my painful leg veins. As I entered, I saw the World's Most Popular Pediatrician, who, despite my hoping to duck in undetected, said "Is that Mrs. BlogMama?" Yes, it is. I managed to see the neighbourhood's two highest-status celebrities within 100 yards and five minutes of each other. I had to wait in the queue until the patient in front of me had finished their business with the pharmacist. She remembered me from the day I bought my first pair of support socks as I was leaving for my vein scan, so we chatted for a bit while we transacted business.

Upon leaving the pharmacy and heading out toward Grove End Road, there was that ubiquitous doctor again, chatting with Cashier Extraordinaire K, who is another one of my weekly cake-recipients.
I mentioned my brush with the world's most famous dyed mop of hair, and the doctor wanted to know if I had taken his picture. "No, I am MUCH too cool to take his picture!" I replied, glad that I hadn't whipped out my camera and taken a shot of Sir Paul's retreating back. We all discussed the upcoming move from Abbey Road to Elm Tree Court, and I assured them both that I would still be in prime cake-delivery territory, as well as being able to hear the cries of "Well hit, Sir, Very Well Hit" from Lord's Cricket Ground while there is a match in play (most of May and June, it seems, which also means that the gym is closed). I learned that the doctor's secretary used to live in the building to which we are moving, AND that there was an armed robbery recently of patrons of an upscale restaurant up Abbey Road while Sir Paul was eating there. Hubster and I had just been there last weekend with MomA and her husband. It's a good thing we eat early; we were the first table to be seated and the first to vacate...
There's always something happening on Abbey Road! I returned to the flat in triumph with Hubster's shirts and few tales to tell...

Americans in London--some observations

I'm not an anthropologist, but I could play one on TV. Perhaps my interest in people-watching had an effect on my choice of academic career (research psychologist). I became good at observing behaviour in a dispassionate, systematic way.

What follows is a brief report on the behavior of Ex-Pat American women in London. These observations were done on a non-random sample of people who send their children to the American School (i.e. skewed extremely to the upper-upper middle class)

NOTE to Readers. The item on hairstyles that used to follow below has been deemed "inappropriate for the general public" by Hubster and has been removed.

When gathering for a planned group expedition that involves meeting at tube stop, groups of these highlighted women will congregate in a place of maximum blockage for those who are trying to enter the station. They are so busy chatting amongst themselves while waiting for the stragglers to arrive that they do not notice that they are COMPLETELY blocking the entrance to the tube station. Once they have arrived at the destination tube station, they will position themselves in a group at the top of the escalators in such a way as to deny access to the exits to anyone else coming up the escalator. This is in the spirit of waiting for any stragglers, but it annoys those who are not in the Group.

Many of these women also engage in walking and running groups in the local neighborhoods. The meeting place for such activities is the SJW Starbucks. The really fit ones can be seen in their running gear, stretching their quads and hammies next to the tables of bean-sippers. Due to my knee, I will never be a runner, so am actually secretly envious of this display of lycra.

The American women are also quick to tell you their sagas of waiting for customer "service".

They will also offer useful advice about how to work appliances, get a UK driver's license (which you have to do before you've been here 12 months), how hard it is to actually pass the driving test, where to shop that offers free delivery, which doctors are wonderful (see homage to our doctor below), how to avoid getting ripped off, etc. As Americans are wont to do, compared to some other groups, they are friendly and assume you'll both want to talk to them AND hear what they have to offer. As this is the main group to which I have been exposed so far, it is easy to chat with strangers and find some common ground in the midst of a strange city.

I am not the only one feeling like a "newbie". One of the women I met last week at the neighborhood coffee is feeling similarly estranged. I was walking near the High Street several days ago, and I heard my name being called. WOW! I looked around, and there was NiceMomH, disguised in large sunglasses. I never would have recognized her. I'm glad she spotted me. It made me feel like I was settling in to the neighborhood a little more to have had a shout-out on the street. I will now call this area of St. John's Wood "the Hi street".