On first glance, it seems like we had never left this great, grey and glorious city, even though it's been a few months since we floated in on the red-eye with Oliver & Alex one bright and early mid-summer's morning on Virgin Atlantic. This time BA's ancient Boeing 747 navigated us smoothly through layers of lowering cumulonimbus with the promise of an arrival 40 minutes ahead of schedule, only to see through the porthole we were in stacked mode over Wimbledon for ten or so minutes followed by waiting patiently on the runway anther 10 minutes awaiting an available gate to disgorge it's weary cargo into the new Terminal 5. Instead of the endless miles of corridors to reach Immigration, we were directed to the underground people "transit" train that shuttled us from the runway to the terminal building with instructions from an other-worldly computerized woman's voice, clearly recovering from a bad case of digital post traumatic syndrome or laryngitis.
The jolly wave of our trusty friend and driver Steven at the gate immediately removed the travel tension and he whisked us along the M4 and through the rain slicked streets of London, the men talking football nine to the dozen - Gerry was in heaven - to the door of Swan Court off the King's Road, Chelsea, in no time at all. Where, we wondered, was all the traffic? Recession rearing it's ugly head? Price of petrol and congestion charges crippling the auto industry and everyone's social life?
"Our" flat is delightful, with an elegant living room, three bedrooms, 1 1/2 bathrooms and a fully equipped modern kitchen. HD Virgin digital TV, with a gazillion channels (and nothing to watch), high-speed internet access which is a boon as I was anticipating signing up with a dial-up company at no small expense and inconvenience. And 2 steps from Waitrose and 3 steps from Marks & Spencer. Buses at the door, who could ask for anything morer?
Our landlord, Luther Travis, has lavish good taste in decor, if a bit too antique-y and chintzy for us. According to Eddie, our friendly Head Porter, It is just one of his homes, which he sometimes shares with his gentleman friend; they had thughtfully consolidated their suede and leather jacket collection, bespoke shirts, cashmere and custom shoes to leave us adequate closet and shelves space. The shower has power, the water and central heating work well and we are in heaven in this top floor flat with views of the quiet back streets of Chelsea.
Mr. Travis also has a home in Manhattan and in the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania. As with our previous landlords and landladies at Swan Court, we have never actually met him. One of those dear ladies we will never meet since she is no longer with us. That was very inconvenient of her and bad timing for us. Luckily a few well-timed monetary notes of appreciation were slipped to the Head Porter, who since then has miraculously found us two other part-time residents here from whom we have rented.
The dawn came very quickly (jet lag rules) soon bringing a watery brightness, if not actually sun. Tthe BBC world news and the London Times didn't scream about anything overtly dire today, the market continued it's slow (if not guaranteed) recovery, the weather report was typically vague with "changeable" (from what to what?) being the operative word, so we made all our calls and emails and puttered away most of the day till it was time to take the 112 bus to meet our friend Barbara Cohen from Naples, FLA via Winchmore Hill at the Mezzanine Restaurant at the National Theatre accompanied by the hilarious company of her two friends Stewart and Barry, a pair of delightful, amusing Jewish theatre loving queens who hail from from West 57th Street, NY NY, Naples and The Berkshires. No doubt our paths will cross again in NYC and when we visit Barbara and Ed in Naples in February. The food was consistently good (very pricey) although I could find nothing under 3,000 calories so I went on a diet vacation with potted shrimps and calves liver in onions and lentils. Yum!
Then to the Lyttleton for the riveting and exhiliarating David Hare Play "The Power of Yes", where an A-list cast of British actors eloquently, entertainingly and horrifyingly depict the sequence of events and dire consequences of the current and ongoing financial industry/credit crunch debacle, with no names or pack-drill spared. "Capitalism works when greed and fear are in the correct balance. This time they got out of balance. Too much greed, not enough fear."
