WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 24
AGENCY #1
We weren’t out the door until 1pm. First agency, D1 Models in Shoreditch, travel time from the East End to there was supposed to be 30 minutes and included Tube, bus and walking. But at the Liverpool station, where we were meant to catch a bus, we learned it had been rerouted, so we walked…a long way really quickly. I was forcing us to use a physical map, having decided it imperative Chloe learn to read a map — a bit of weird on my part. Needless to say, we went the wrong way a lot.
The agency was tucked away in a quiet neighborhood. It felt a little bit like the location of the Dublin agency. I waited on a bench in a nearby park as Chloe courageously went inside. A young man was throwing a ball for his dog. I smelled the wet leaves of fall in the air. The meeting was short and unsuccessful, great practice, we decided, for learning to approach new places and people, but brutal.
GREASY SPOON AND STRANGER LOVE
We stopped in a dive diner so I could have some greasy eggs. People were smoking outside after finishing their meals, most were in their 70s. The waitress was a bold South African/English woman of Portuguese heritage, who was in everyone’s face and immediately touched Chloe’s hair. Something people of African descent get used to and justifiably hate. But this woman saved herself, at least in my eyes, when she exuded about Chloe’s beauty.
She proceeded to tell her story, in a booming voice, her black-pencilled eyebrows rising to exaggerate words. Her dyed black hair was pulled back in a bright red band and hung limply over her thick, round shoulders. As we left, she wished Chloe good luck. Everywhere we go it seems Chloe is getting stranger love. L., who we met the day before, sent a text wishing her well, saying she hope she is successful so everyone can see Chloe’s outside beauty that radiates from inside.
LIKE OLD FASHIONED TOURISTS
Time for old fashioned tourist stuff….we took the nearest Tube to Westminster Abbey, exited at Big Ben. Unfortunately, Big Ben was covered in scaffolding and fabric. Sharp, autumn light hitting the Parliament buildings as we passed them. Another spectacular, sunny London day.
From Westminster Abbey, which we viewed from outside, we headed toward Buckingham Palace. Chloe lit up as we got nearer…she’s enamoured of kings, queens, princes and princesses. Who’d of thought? Glee in watching the guards march outside the entrance behind the tall metal gates.
OFF TO BRIXTON AND B’S HOUSE
The Brixton station was jammed with people, the street outside an equal crush. It was rush hour as we made our way to B’s home. The sound of drums reverberated off the buildings from a group of drummers set up near the station exit. We picked up vegan food for Chloe, wine for B and his family, stopped in Morrie’s department store to buy a blanket, and proceeded to walk in the wrong direction…again.
The moon was nearly full, the warmth from the day still lingered in the fresh air. Brixton had an entirely different vibe than the other neighborhoods we’d visited. It felt more like Brooklyn with its quirky and beautiful townhouses lining the streets. Once off the main drag, it was quiet like Shoreditch had been earlier in the day. Shoreditch reminded me of Soho in New York.
B and his daughter, I, greeted us at the door. We were taken to the kitchen where I promptly sat in a comfortable, stuffed chair in the corner of the small dining area. The kitchen and dining area shared a large space, with windows opening onto the garden. We stood awkwardly near the table as B prepared the food. His partner was in Thailand with the oldest daughter.
B apologized for being behind on the cooking. He’d had lunch with David that had run late. We had no idea who David was, and I asked. Oh, he said sheepishly, “David Hockney.” Hockney is his friend and was the subject of one of his most successful films.
“How do you become friends with Hockney? I asked. “From London art circles, and then,” he explained, “one shouldn’t forget that I went to Harvard, and so my classmates now run all the major museums in the US.” This wasn’t said smugly but with awareness and honesty.
I listened closely and admiringly as her dad spoke but was quick to interrupt whenever he may have made a slight error. She was a precocious, articulate and confident 10 year old. Throughout dinner, she delighted in correcting her father. Often she led the conversation.
B, a filmmaker and art historian, studied Post Renaissance 16th Century Italian art at Harvard. His wife is a curator at the Victorian Albert Museum. Needless to say, he knows a lot about art and he is also deeply thoughtful. When forming a response to a question or trying to explain a complex theory, he turned his head to the side, paused, seemed to fumble, then looked at us with an almost sheepish expression and hurriedly articulated a clear explanation.
BONES
Dinner was sea bass, the full body, head included; asparagus; potatoes; and kale. Dessert, or pudding, boiled plums with cream. The meal itself was entertaining. We learned how to pit plums, and I had my first adventure eating a whole fish, opening it up to take out the spine, breaking off the head, removing the tail, scraping the flesh from the skin.
The minefield of tiny bones provided lots of laughs. These challenges and challenging I made for a fun and lighthearted evening. We talked about B’s new film based in Brazil and about the unique museums there; about schools in London; about different English accents; and much more.
It was nearly 11:30 when we left, with plans to meet again during this London visit.
