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King for a Day Sharon and I caught the number nineteen bus. We sat in the very front of the upper deck. The bus did a good job of pruning trees along the route. The narrow road and standard shift bus made for a jerky ride. The front end of the bus stuck out so far that when we went around corners it felt like we were going to smack into sign posts. We crossed a bridge and thought we were going to see the other side too, but no -- we pulled into a bus garage instead. We discovered we were the only ones left on the bus besides the driver. And we didn't even see him by the time we got off. We saw the famous Old Albert suspension bridge -- so weak marching bands were advised to break step when crossing it. Partway across we saw two girls with Canadian flags on their backpacks. They had arrived the day before and looked eager and fresh ready to tour Europe for the summer. I suspected that in a month they would be lying in sunny squares trying to catch up on sleep. Train lag. The National Theatre had a photo display. The winner was a black and white photo of a blind institution with Braille dots punched onto the surface. I liked the black and white close-up photos of things women used to beautify themselves -- eye-lash curlers, nail files, mascara, lip stick. A blurb beneath the photos was written up from a future archeologist's viewpoint as to what the various implements may have been used for. We were able take in another room of art at the National Gallery before meeting Pat, a friend of Bruni's, who was driving us home. Pat clipped along at eighty-five miles per hour and was still being passed. Near Tring she took us to see acres of brilliant red poppies blanketing an entire field. Spectacular. Farmers normally sprayed their fields so poppies didn't grow. I could hear the farmer: "I knew I forgot something." Back at Alistair and Bruni's was a birthday card with a picture of Buddha. Bruni had written Happy Birthday Rex. I indeed felt like King for the day. Alistair came home tired. His forced diet hadn't done anything to placate his bad mood, especially when Sharon and I were eating everything tasty in sight while he nibbled cabbage and spinach. I had chocolate muffins, rum balls, truffles and a birthday candle too. Alistair poured me a glass of champagne. "Chicken, again?" he griped, finding out what was for supper "Neil and Sharon don't complain," Bruni said. "Oh yeah, but they leave so they can eat out," Alistair retorted, grabbing his golf bag as he went off to smack a few balls. |
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