We left the arrangements for this get together pretty open-ended in the planning. Debbi & Graeme were flying in from Australia that very day, with only a few days in London and really only the one slot, this very day, which worked for us all.
As things turned out, they landed and got to Central London so very early in the morning, that not even the “mates arrangement” at their hotel could get them in to a room THAT early.
So we made a last minute arrangement for them to visit me in Clanricarde Gardens at breakfast-time, while they waited for a room.
We’re a bit dishevelled, straight off the journey from Melbourne, not least 17 hours non-stop flight from Perth…
…said Debbi. So I made a special effort not to hevel myself, just to put my visitors at ease, you understand. Mum would have been horrified by my admitting family visitors without doing something to my hair, but that’s a barber’s daughter for you.
Debbi, Graeme and I had a very pleasant chat about lots of stuff, including Part One of the life story discussion and a fair deal about sport. Graeme is a psychologist with particular interests in organisational and sports psychology. We also talked a fair bit about University life, as they both work in that sector.
We agreed that we’d meet for dinner at 8:00. It was my job to choose the venue. Graeme suggested that I use a swathe of psychometric tests on the staff of possible venues in order to select the authoritatively most suitable place in the vicinity. I think that might have been what he said. Perhaps he said, “don’t…”
Anyway, we parted company, I did some Googling and then I went off to Queen’s to play The Mighty Snitch at real tennis. I told Snitch that I’d had a session with sports psychologist earlier that morning, which was true in a way. We had a good game. Snitch thought I’d played well and wondered what secrets the sports psychologist had passed on to me. I explained that, if I told Snitch those secrets, I wouldn’t have one over him any more. Snitch understood.
On the way back from Queen’s, I used my own style of selection process by looking at, going in and smelling the Scarsdale Tavern. I also talked to the staff. They seemed friendly and relaxed about my booking. I liked the look, vibe and smell of the place. I held off on deploying psychometric tests and booked a table there and then.
When I returned to The Scarsdale several hours later, on foot, arriving just before the appointed hour, I was warmly greeted by a member of staff and told that they had put aside a quiet table by the fireplace for us, which sounded very considerate.
I waited for Debbi and Graeme.
Fortunately, I decided to check my messages and things while I waited – not least to see if they had been delayed or mislaid. But what I found was a Facebook posting by Debbi, claiming that THEY were waiting for ME in The Scarsdale Tavern, adorned with the following photo:
Recognising the main restaurant part, I popped through to the other side of the Tavern to find them. We switched to the quieter side, which was indeed more suitable for a chat and a meal.
We had a very enjoyable meal and managed Part Two of the life story discussion. Janie phoned in for a while.
Graeme was convinced that Australia would win the cricket world cup, while I still rate England’s chances. Inspired by my tale of the day of the 1999 world cup semi-final at Edgbaston…
…we agreed a wager of £1, with the loser donating that sum to their favourite charity, which might mean (if neither Australia nor England win the title) that both of us are £1 down and charity as much as £2 up at the end of it all. Nail-biting stuff. An ironic postscript is that fate has conspired to pair England with Australia for a semi-final at Edgbaston this time around, next week on 11 July.
But I digress.
I decided to walk Debbi and Graeme back to their hotel – not because they need chaperoning, but because it was such a beautiful evening and that gave us an additional 10-15 minutes to chat.
I was most impressed to see that they were staying at Ellen Terry‘s place, so I took the above photo. Debbi and Graeme were underwhelmed by this fact, as the name of that great Victorian actress meant nothing to them. And there was me thinking that Debbi & Graeme are Victorians?
The hotel was just around the corner from the flat where American cousins Joni and Hal lived during their short sojourn to London in the late 1980’s. I walked around the corner to survey Courtfield Gardens, the next garden square along, before calling a cab home.
A very enjoyable evening.
Postscript
When I told Janie that Graeme was a sports psychologist who had imparted the secret of success upon me, she positively quaked and naturally succumbed to my superior mental strength when we played tennis (modern variety) on the Saturday.
Janie wondered what secrets Graeme had passed on to me. I explained that, if I told her those secrets, I wouldn’t have one over her any more. Janie understood. By which I mean, I guess she understood that there are no such secrets for me. Janie levelled the match on Sunday.