The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1577 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Danny and I took the train up to London and then a cab to Foyle’s Bookshop in Charing Cross Road. It was years since I’d been there and they now had a cafe as well–there wasn’t one back in my student days, which was the last time I’d been there. But then, several Waterstone’s now sported coffee shops, as did other independent bookshops. Even M&S had coffee shops in many of their stores, which would have been unheard of ten or fifteen years ago. Seems it’s an easy way to make profits, or of getting people into the shop in the first place.

The queue for Beckham’s book-signing was well out of the shop by the time we got there and he’d arrived early, apparently. I’d worn comfy shoes and a good coat over my jeans and fleece top and I was glad I had. It was cold standing out in Charing Cross Road. Seeing the road sign made me think of Helene Hanff’s book, which was made into a play and then into a film. A real weepie. If you haven’t seen 84 Charing Cross Road you missed a cracker, a real woman’s film starring Anne Bancroft and Tony Hopkins. Um, I think I might buy the DVD as a treat while we’re up here.

We waited nearly an hour to meet the great footballer, and David Beckham was every bit as good looking in the flesh as he is in photos, apart from the tattoos. He happily shook hands with Danny while I took a quick picture–there were grumbles because no one else seemed to have considered it, and the queue was growing.

“Would you like a coffee, David?” I said quietly to him.

“Oh please, darlin’,” he replied, and we went and got him one. I took another sneaky picture of him accepting it from Danny, whose hands were shaking with excitement. He was totally overawed by the celebrity, whom I respect for not being carried away with his fame/notoriety. No matter how famous he becomes, he’s still an ordinary lad at heart with feet firmly planted on the ground.

I found a copy of the film of Hanff’s book and we bought that. I felt quite pleased with myself, and I knew Julie and I would enjoy it, as probably would Stella. The underlings would be a bit young to appreciate it, and the men would probably feel a bit bored. It’s pure sentiment–but extremely well done, all we needed now was some chocolate and a box of tissues.

While we were in that part of London we went to the National Gallery and looked at a few paintings, Danny was astonished at how big some of them were, including the Monet Waterlilies. Much as I like the Impressionists, I really enjoy the Canaletto’s which have an almost photographic quality about them. Having been reading some of Donna Leon’s detective stories based in Venice, the Canaletto’s brought a new dimension to the place–even if they were hundreds of years earlier. I’ll bet back in those days, Commissario Guido Brunetti, would have had even more murder, corruption and intrigue to deal with than in the modern era.

We had lunch in a Spaghetti House near the National Gallery, then had a wander round Trafalgar Square before heading back to Waterloo to get the return train. It brought back memories, the last time I remembered being in Trafalgar Square the whole place was full of cycling fans, the main roads were all closed and Hyde Park was full of the circus which is the Tour de France. I was a marshal for the second day which was on the London to Ashford stage–great memories, even if I was sort of pre-transition then, by about a week–when Lady Cameron chose to send me into orbit from my bicycle. Happy days.

“Mum, this is us.” Danny was pulling my arm–I was back watching Dave Millar lead the TdF through Erith.

“Oh, is it?”

“Were you asleep?” he asked.

“No, just thinking, sweetheart,”

“You looked asleep to me.”

Maybe I was, or simply thinking with my eyes closed. Certainly, the gymnastics with Simon when we went to bed were enough to tire him out, well and truly. I was a bit sore, I usually am if he gets too vigorous, and it is made of quite a bit of scar tissue, although I have enough sensitivity in my clit to get some enjoyment from it, but I have to use a lubricant–I know, like loads of older women. Too much information, I know.

“Did you get to meet Daffy Duck then?” asked Simon as we sat down to eat dinner.

“Yeah, we got some good photos didn’t we, Mum?”

“We got some photos. Whether they’re good ones is another matter.”

Simon continued to gently tease Danny who wanted to download the photos onto his computer.

“Where’s Caroline?” I suddenly realised she wasn’t with us.

“Southampton, I guess.” Stella answered, “She was moping about so much, I told her to go and see her blessed Jenny.”

“Did you know that a Jenny is a name for a female donkey?” declared Trish.

“I wouldn’t tell that to our Jenny, if I were you. She has a kick like a mule.” Simon attained new heights in his jokes, they were now only ten miles below the level of decency.

“That would seem apt, Caroline making a donkey of herself to see Jenny,” Stella said very quietly to me.

“Perhaps, still that’s up to her.”

“Dunno, seems more like a lovesick boy than girl.”

“Do they act differently, then?” I asked in all innocence.

“Oh God, yes. You should have seen Simon when he first got the hots for you.”

“I’m not sure I would like to have seen him then.”

“He had it worse than Caroline, by miles–and then when your little secret popped out,” I cringed at the metaphor, it sounded like something had fallen out of my knickers, which didn’t happen–least not when he was about.

Simon had gone off with Danny to see the photos of the book signing. I was much relieved to hear they’d all come out sufficiently well for him to load them onto his computer. What I didn’t realise was that the Daily Wail would have a picture of Danny handing over a cup of coffee to his hero. Seems someone else took his own photo.

We only found out when Pippa phoned up and told us to look on their website and sure enough it had the photo which was almost identical to ours and the caption, ‘Coffee, Sir? Danny Maiden gives the former England captain a much needed drink at a book signing in London. He was really excited to meet his hero.’

Of course he then had to dash off and buy a couple of copies from the local shop–local? It’s half a mile away. I did manage to save a copy of the online format for him, because newsprint tends to deteriorate quite quickly–goes very yellow.