It was my last night in the hotel. I would be spending the next night, my last in London, with Trish Vining, at her upscale Bermondsey flat on the south bank of the Thames. Our children had been in school together. Now, children grown, she stays half the year in her native England. I enjoyed her quick British wit. We’re going to a neighborhood gallery opening, then dinner. Borough Market on Saturday morning.
The tennies I had purchased days previous at a High Street Oxfam weren’t doing the trick. My feet were on fire. What I knew I needed before joining Trish was a damn good pedicure—and a damn great foot massage.
Checking out of my Victoria hotel, suitcase rolling behind me, backpack filled to the brim, I went in search of salons gleaned from an internet search in the hotel breakfast room. Rain intermittent and on my third umbrella, I balked initially at the price at the first salon on Wilton Road. Determined to find a better value, I walked further along Victoria Street. None were walk-in available, and none were cheaper. Tail tucked under, I returned to the first place and got a pedicure I’ll remember for life, not as exuberant as Meg Ryan in When Harry Loves Sally but close. Groaning, “Ooooh . . . this is unbelievable . . . this is perfect . . . this is soooo wonderful.”
Before heading to Trish’s, I had booked myself on a picturesque narrow-boat ride along Regents Canal, from Little Venice to Camden Locks, but I had trouble pretending to be back in the 17th century.
There was a teething infant crying in front of me for most of the hour. I wanted to scream at her unfazed Italian parents, would you give her a damn finger to suck before I do? but I held it in. I guess there would have been 17 century screaming babies, but it definitely spoiled the ambiance.
We exited the narrow boat to find the festive markets of Camden Town in full swing. I lost myself among the dealers’ booths.
I bought Tony a small blue and green glass water pipe. The rough biker vendor was taken-back by a late middle-aged woman traveling alone, sizing drug paraphernalia. I loved blowing his mind. Hey, I’m not my mother yet.
ON THE ROAD FRIDAY.
SEE YOU NEXT WEEK.
