9:00pm
The group prepared to leave for the evening.
Falcon took a quick call from his friend Karlheinz, who was now staying in his old paid-for room at the Aerodrome Hotel in Croydon. It was too foggy to fly, although Croydon Aerodrome and Lympne Aerodrom were lit for night flying. He assured John-Marc he would also be far more sober in the morning so it would be far better to wait.
As he followed the group down to the waiting cabs, Phil reflected how hard it was to find someplace around to raise a glass. The Concierge suggested a pub a mere five minute walk (more like fifteen minutes, almost to Picadilly Circus) to an establishment that would be more receptive to his "kind". Once at "
Ye Red Lion" pub he'd had a couple pints of bitters and thrown a few darts, but even so it was a far from friendly atmosphere and he could feel the eyes on him. Maybe it was his clothing, maybe his American accent.
Also, the money here was so GODDAMN CONFUSING! He had the feeling he'd stood the pub a round without realising it.
Simmons had lent him a coat so that he wasn't thrown out of the lobby. Aside from Phil, Howard, Miss Holloway, Mr. Singh, John-Marc it looked like Dr. Weston was coming along, too. The "backward" orientation of the vehicles (driving and parked on the wrong side of the street, as it were) confused the Americans as usual, although it was natural to Doctor West, John-Marc and Imran Singh, who'd all grown up in the British Empire and already drove on the correct side of the street (left-hand).
The taxis forged down Piccadilly. Although the spotless boulevard was wide and impeccably maintained, the fog was steadily becoming thicker and traffic was heavy. After passing St. James's Church the throughfare debouched into Piccadilly Circus, and it was Bedlam, lit up with electric signs of the business and theatres that surrounded it, and also touting products. Swan & Edgar was a major department store, it had been damaged in the last Zeppelin rain during the War. (Karlheinz had been on raids over London but had not been on that one, or so he'd said.) The massive Lillywhites store was a new addition, featuring the best in sporting equipment, not far from the stately London Pavillion music hall (recently adorned with electric billboards of its own).
It was an interesting thought that this was a Thursday evening on a cold late winter's day. What would the weekend in summer be like? The moon broke through the fog for a glorious moment.
In the middle of the intersection (which wasn't really circular anymore) was a fountain with a statue of winged Eros (actually, his brother Anteros but few knew this). Automatic traffic signals weren't coming for a year, so there were a couple over-worked bobbies trying to manage the flow of vehicles and pedestrians by hand. Electric street lights and billboards lit up the evening haze from within and below.
The fog lifted somehow and they managed to make it through the Circus onto Shaftesbury without any prangs. The taxis became separated in the traffic as they passed by the many establishments of theatreland, entering Soho and a deeper fog. It was clear in that short distance how busier and somehow dodgier Soho had gotten between daytime and night. Throngs of excited and/or drunken party-goers walked staggered along the sidewalks and among the cars and buses, women of easy virtue waited less than demurely on street corners and the lesser-trafficked side streets. Street vendors hawked their cheap wares from suitcases and cooked food on carts.
Just before Shaftesbury and Charing Cross one taxi halted to let Phil out into the crowd before continuing on. The taxis (first one, then after a few minutes the other) turned right and then stopped a block or so down, letting everyone out to make their way down Litchfield to the club. Unlike other establishments there was no line-up at the door, probably because they weren't playing hot jazz. The alley to the side already smelled of urine despite the rain earlier.
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:41, Fri 07 Oct 2011.
