A London Saturday

This past Saturday, I participated in a video taping for the development of a new TV show. The taping was on location, in Islington and started fairly early. As there is no congestion charge on Saturdays, I decided to drive in my car. The production company hired a doctor's surgery for the day, as the location called for was a surgery. A number of us, who were playing patients for the taping, were lined up outside the surgery, waiting to be shot entering, one at a time. The camera crews were inside, with the director and the people playing the surgery staff. Outside, there was a production assistant (PA), who gave us cues as to when to go in.
While we were waiting, an odd woman walked up from the street. She asked what was going on. One of the people waiting told her we were filming for TV. The PA walked over and asked her if she was here for the taping. "I can be," the woman answered. She then started rattling off how she had all this acting experience. The PA assumed this woman was simply someone turing up late for the taping, when in reality, she was a patient of the surgery, who had come to attend the surgery. For some reason, this woman didn't seem to take notice of the sign on the surgery door, which read, "Surgery Closed." Just then, another PA came over and offered us coffee or tea. This odd woman immediately jumped in with her order for coffee. Another person from the production company brought some electrical cable for the crew. The first PA placed it on a bench by the door.
All this time, I have been reading a book, while waiting, "The Crisis of Global Capitalism," by George Soros. The newcomer was standing to my right, talking. I had this uneasy feeling she was trying to talk to me, so I kept my face buried in the book. The odd woman dipped her head to see what the title of the book was. She then preceded to say something I couldn't make out. Feeling annoyed at being disturbed, I made a dramatic show of pausing reading and said, "Were you speaking to me? I didn't hear what you said, as I was reading." She then repeated what she had said, which was asking me what I thought of the book. "It's a load of rubbish," I responded and went back to reading it. Despite the fact that I was turned away from her and buried my head still deeper into my book, she continued to try to talk to me. You may have gathered by now that this woman wasn't particularly attractive. If she had been gorgeous, I would have stopped reading and talked with her, obviously. Unfortunately, she was a middle-aged, frumpy looking nutter. Not my type. She asked me whether the Soros family was involved in some business venture or other. Looking still more disturbed, I said, "I don't really care," and went back to reading.
At this point, I think she finally got the message. She proceeded to try talking to another guy, across the walk from her. He looked about as interested as I was. After he didn't respond, she carried on talking to herself. Oh dear! Subsequently, she stared feeling impatient and asked the PA when she would get to see the doctor. The PA started to suspect that this woman wasn't here for the taping. The PA pointed out to the woman that the surgery was actually closed, so there would be no seeing of the actual doctor, just an acting doctor for the production. The wacko woman then said she just needed a prescription. She had a couple of pill bottles with her and I wondered just what medication she is on. The PA said she would arrange for her to leave her prescription information for the pharmacy inside. Apparently, the wacko didn't want to wait around to play TV actress any longer. The PA led her inside.
A short time later, the wacko came back out. She picked up the coiled electrical cable from the bench and walked down the walkway, toward the street, saying, "I'll be back in my electrician's kit." Suddenly, the first PA caming running after her, calling out, "excuse me...excuse me..." The PA caught the wacko just as she reached the street. A minor tug of war ensued, which the PA won. The wacko had been trying to steal the cable! At least the wacko left and didn't come back.
We finished taping the segments I was in by 11:30AM. On Friday night, I had told Tom, the Injured Cyclist (www.myspace.com/tomamoslondon ) that I would be in town on Saturday. He suggested I come over for a visit after the TV taping. I had promised to call him when I was finished with the project. As I walked back to my car, I called Tom. After letting him know I was on my way, I got in to get under way. I had printed out directions from the location to Surrey Quays, where Tom lives, on Mapquest. I soon discovered I had left the directions home. I remembered that the directions had me crossing Tower Bridge. I pulled out my 18 year old, A to Z atlas and found the page that covers Tom's area. I saw where I needed to turn after crossing Tower Bridge and set off toward Central London. I figured if I could find the Thames, I could drive along it till I came across Tower Bridge and make my way from there.
My spontaneous navigation worked and I arrived at Tom's in less than an hour. When I got inside, I suggested that Tom put on Wendy Lloyd's show, on LBC 97.3 (Sky Channel 0177 or via the net, at: www.lbc973.co.uk ), as I am a loyal listener of Wendy's, despite her apparent snubbing of me. Tom only listens when I remind him. We were both surprised to find that Alison Bell was sitting in for Wendy. Tom offered me a beer and, coincidentally, Alison was talking about drinking alone, as a topic. I don't drink alone very often, while Tom often does. I called in and we both spoke to Alison on air, clinking our bottles of Carlsburg, so Allison could hear we were drinking. Tom then asked me if I was hungry. Because I was running late that morning, I had skipped breakfast, so I was famished. There were only cookies available at the TV location and I had grabbed a handful to hold me over till I could have a proper meal. Tom informed me that the cupboards were bare and suggested we go to his local Tesco so he could replenish them. I was happy to drive him to Tesco. Tom injured his leg riding his bicycle, earlier this year, and is still recovering. He walks with crutches. I urged him to take advantage of my car being there and we headed off.
I hoped Tom's crutches might draw some sympathetic women to us, while we were in Tesco. I asked him if he wanted a trolley or a hand basket. He assured me that he wasn't getting so much that we would need a trolley and I picked up a hand basket. Tom was interested to learn how I managed to spend only £9 when I go shopping, while he seemed to spend more. I quickly learned why he finds it difficult to keep his bill down. He insisted on buying two different types of laundry detergent. Then he informed me that he wanted to buy some face wash. Face wash? Sounds a bit metrosexual, to me. Surely, real men use plain soap, don't they? Tom reached for an expensive, name brand face wash. I pointed out that there was a Tesco brand face wash that was only one third the cost. Tom balked at the quality of the Tesco face wash and selected the expensive, name brand. I wonder what he would think of the 17 Pence soap I buy? At the Deli counter, Tom purchased some pricey sliced ham. I mentioned that I would purchase the pre-packaged, thin sliced ham which would cost less and we would get more, but he didn't pay me any attention. He did agree to purchase a 500 gram Tesco Value Cole Slaw and two 250 gram Tesco Value Potato Salads. One bargain, at least. He selected a pre-cooked, Tesco roast chicken. I suggested that an uncooked chicken would cost less, but he remained undetered, saying that it would need to be cooked and he didn't want the bother. Soon, the hand basket was overflowing and I wished that I had taken a trolley (shopping cart for American readers). At the checkout, I flirted with the Muslim cashier, but Tom didn't seem interested in her.
Back at Tom's flat, we had a nice lunch, making submarine sandwiches out of French stick and the sliced ham, with lettuce, some cole slaw and potato salad on the side. We washed it down with more beer. Later, Tom suggested that we take a walk around the marina and take a few pictures. I was happy to do this as I can always use more pictures. While Tom was trying to take a photo of me in front of a sailing yacht, I spotted an attractive, dark haired woman, walking along the pontoon with shopping bags. I said to Tom, loud enough for her to hear, "instead of taking a picture of me, you should be taking a picture of her," indicating the strolling beauty. She heard me and smiled. I am a bit of a flirt. After walking up and down the marina, Tom led us over to the Thames. We could see Canary Wharf across the river. He then suggested that we might go to a local pub, which is located on a boat. I was up for this, but Tom just led me back to his flat. He was famished again and said we would eat first, then go to the pub. He quickly tucked into the pre-cooked chicken, staring off with a leg. Not being much of a chicken leg man, I sliced some breast. Soon, it was too late to go to the pub, so Tom suggested we watch a DVD instead. I had seen most of the films in his collection, but I suggested "Donnie Darko," one I had never seen. Tom seemed reluctant to go with that choice and kept trying to sell me on one of a few foreign films. I wasn't in the mood for any of them. To break the impasse, Tom put on a DVD of some stand up comedy routine. I didn't find it particularly funny and ended up falling asleep. This was because I was very tired, having only had three and a half hours of sleep the night before, not because Tom is dull, or something.
When I reawakened, Tom asked me if I wanted to sleep on the settee, till morning, but I wanted to get home, so I could relax all Sunday. Tom wrote in his Injured Cyclist blog ( www.theinjuredcyclist.blogspot.com ) that I had started snoring, but I didn't hear a thing. We said our goodbyes and I set off, home. All in all, it was a relaxing day. We hadn't had the pressure of the lovely Katie, Tom's sort of ex-girlfriend, being there, like the previous time I visited.