London Capers

Just got back to Gloucester last night - utterly knackered.

I have done London.

All of it.

Headed there last Wednesday via Northampton General to get a breast exam. I make use of the NHS mercilessly when I'm in the UK. You just can't get certain things done so easily in Rwanda. Turns out I'm absolutely fine - just got sore boobs. According to the pamphlet they gave me, if I down enough evening primrose oil, it should go away.

Phew.

Everything that happened to Christiane left me a bit edgy. And it's not always so straightforward getting help in the UK. Yes - the NHS is fairly easy to access, but health messages are so contradictory. On the one hand you have huge advertising campaigns saying 'check your breasts, if anything's odd get it looked at immediately!' but when you do raise concerns you're often made to feel like an idiot. Not my GP - he's good, but when I initially asked the nurse how to go about getting an exam, she looked at me impatiently and said 'We'll call you when you're fifty-five.'

Gee, thanks.

I appreciate people are over worked and under staffed, but still. 

Anyway, soothed my nerves in a pub with an incredible mural across the back wall (above). Downed two double whiskies and a pint whilst staring at it through tears. It looks exactly like Lake Kivu from Bethany, with the big mountain in the background - just like where Christiane built her ecolodge. What are the chances?

A couple of the locals, somewhat worse for wear, came to keep me company and we had a depressing conversation about someone's cousin who died of HIV from a blood transfusion, and a kid with hemophilia. Not exactly uplifting, but then the landlord brought out the most incredible home made lasagne and dished it out free to all his customers. Soul food.

So, the next part of my journey, after getting me breasts squeezed, was to drive to Crofton Park in South London, to stay with Cathryn and her fella Danny, who is now Mr. Cathryn since they got married in July.

Mr. Cathryn and Mrs. Danny

They've also moved out of their top-floor flat in  East Dulwich and into a swanky two-bedroom house. It's definitely a sign you're getting older when crashing at a mate's place no longer involves a couch, but a double bed and a car parking space.

Double Bed

Car Parking Space

I didn't really see them much for the first couple of days as we were both out and about. On the Friday I did a jaunt to St. James's to do afternoon tea at The Stafford Hotel. I was very excited. I was meeting up with someone I've known online for a while but never actually met. An erotica writer by the nom de plume Remittance Girl. I stumbled across a story she'd written for my publisher in an anthology, and her style really stood out. I though I have to meet this lady! She read my most recent novel and thought the same!

We had an absolutely delightful time. The Stafford puts on a decadent spread. There were sandwiches, scones, cakes and a lake of tea. I opted for Earl Grey and RG went for English Breakfast.

RG is originally American, educated in England, and now a long-term expatriate in Vietnam, so we had a lot to talk about, and it was so comforting to be with someone else who understood how hard it is to adjust back to British life. 

After tea we took a leisurely stroll through Mayfair and sat in the park talking until it grew dark and we got thrown out. 

The next day I was up to Hackney to meet with another author friend of mine called Will. I've read just about everything he's published - my absolute favourite is The Trapeze Artist. Doubly entertaining as that's what he does for a living - well, aerial silks is his speciality. Very talented guy.

His friend Sophie was throwing a house party, so we wandered over. Had such a good time quaffing Prosecco and talking to everyone: writers, actors and circus performers. It's been a long time since I was last in the company of artists, and the community in Hackney is pretty fabulous. It felt really good hearing about the glitz, glamour, passion and hard knocks of pursuing a life of such uncertain income. A vibrant life.

Found this lovely artwork on the wall by Crofton Park Station on the way home.

Finally, finally got to catch up with Cathryn. It was her birthday on the Saturday but she was working and then out with Danny, meanwhile I was in Hackney. She did come in at 3am and proceeded to pounce on me and tickle me awake! I became vaguely aware of the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. Then a square of light appeared across the wall and I knew I was in trouble. But, terrifying as that was, it wasn't exactly 'quality time' together. So we spent Sunday and Monday catching up. Went to watch the Ireland v. Romania match at The Blythe in Forest Hill. It is such a traditional Irish bar. They do a fantastic pint of Guinness. We had to try it three times to make sure the quality was consistent.

Then headed home for pizza and more beer.

In the fridge a little too long.

On  Tuesday I headed to Eltham, just down the road, to catch up with Cassie, Sean and wee Ryanman. A few weeks back I gave Sean a hand editing a short story and it's just been accepted for an anthology, which is great news. We did more pizza and beer and catch-up.

On Wednesday I drove to Stevenage.

My favourite priest lives there. Remember LB from my Congo adventures? When he's not haring round DRC on a mission, he's based in Stevenage. 

We went out for cocktails and Mexican.

Then ended up back at his place chatting. Our friend Mimi's husband was in London dining with investors. He came over after he'd finished. He's a big deal in the development sector. The one who fixed it for me to go to Mugunga Refugee Camp and put my name on the UN humanitarian flights list, which means I should be able to get to Kindu to see my friend when I get back. 

I was a bit nervous. My head hasn't been in work mode for a while. Truth be told, I don't want to think, speak or contemplate work at all until I get back to Rwanda in January. I really need a proper holiday. But this guy is really nice. LB cracked open his store of communion wine and we proceeded to get utterly trollied.

Poterion Sacramental Wine

We stumbled to bed just before two, as LB was catching a flight to Germany at 5am. It was all a bit of a blur. I vaguely remember a brief (and somewhat slurred) conference call with their partner in Canada, and agreeing to some sort of work, which I can't entirely remember, but which I'm sure is awaiting me in my in-box when I build up the courage to look.

Like a complete dick, I'd left my laptop in Eltham! I'd been doing so well up to that point. I'd planned a leisurely breakfast with my cousin Alx in Hertford, just up the road from Stevenage, but I had to leave early to race back into town and collect my computer.

Stayed long enough to eat noodles, natter a bit, hear about her friend Neil Bonner, who is facing prison in Indonesia for documentary making on the wrong visa, and admire her gorgeous tattoo.

Took me five hours to get back in and out of London again. I was a nervous wreck of a driver when I left Gloucester a week ago. After the hellish motoring experience of the city, I'm back to a confident, arrogant cock of a driver. It's amazing how fast it all comes flooding back.

Kitty did me proud. Have loved every minute of seeing everyone. So pleased to have such a diverse, and creative, group of friends. There were a couple of people I didn't get to see - I just couldn't. Seven people in five days is a lot, and getting across London is both tiring and expensive. So hoping to catch up with others over the next few months.

Going to regain my strength for a few days, then it's off to Northamptonshire again for a book talk.