Two Walls and a Roof (52 page)

I suddenly stopped in the street and told JoAnn that I would now describe a window to her that could not possibly still exist after fifteen years, but that I was sure we would see if she followed me down some nearby alleyways. JoAnn listened without comment, and then I began walking, being guided purely by instinct
. After only five minutes or so
we arrived at ‘my window’. It was exactly as I had described it, down to the smallest detail. We both stood looking on in total amazement at this incredible sight
. N
o one would expect that a window would remain unchanged in all those years
,
but it had.  I still do not know what the significance is, but I am sure it was no accident that the travel agent got my dates wrong, and we were meant to remarry in Seville and see my window.

Over the next five years we went on holidays all over Europe
.
Courtesy
of Ryanair we saw the Unesco city of Carcasonne in France
and
the Alhambra Palace in Granada
,
Spain. We went to Amsterdam in the winter
,
deliberately missing Anne Frank
’
s house, but taking a boat trip beneath it, and
going to the red l
ig
ht district, which was heavily
populated by Japanese tourists with a zillion flashing cameras. They seemed to travel in groups of twenty or so, for ‘moral protection’ no doubt.  I think we both loved the place. There was a great sense of freedom in the city
,
but also what appeared to be a great drug problem too
,
especially late at night. My lasting memories from that trip were twofold
:
one was the amazing chocolate sweets they gave you after a meal, and the other was a visit we made to a sex museum, which literally was an eye opener for both of us.  The only downside was that JoAnn bo
ught about a hundred tulip bulbs
in a market and not a single one became a flower
.
I think they saw us coming.

On another one of our trips
JoAnn
’s twenty-
something
year old
daughter Jessica, a beautiful tall girl, arrived for a holiday in Ireland and I decided to show my guests the city of London, one of my all time favourite places on earth. I booked us a triple room in North London
,
and that’s where our first troubles began. We had taken the bus into central London and made our way to ‘Paki land’ only to discover that the room I had booked was a small pokey pigsty. My Americans were used to a very high standard of room
, and the place I had booked on
line bore no resemblance whatsoever to the thumbnail pictures I had squinted at on my laptop. They were shocked at the size of the room and how dirty it was. The only place I had ever seen that was smaller was in New York, but that room had been spotlessly clean
,
unlike our ‘Indian or Paki
’
abode. I think the mana
gers of that excuse for a hotel
deliberately spoke poor English just in case we might complain, and JoAnn did want to leave immediately. I tried my best to assure my guests that all we would be doing there was sleeping, but my words were of little comfort and fell on at least one set of deaf ears. I couldn’t help notice the ancient
,
stained and mouldy bedspreads. They were so nasty that they could e
asily have passed as Afghan rugs
which had once been used by goat herders, until the goats had refused to sleep on them any longer, and their owners had then sold them on to our Pakis.  Even I, who came
from the era of hairy blankets
and savage fleas, became scared to pull back t
he sheets, just in case some un
catalogued insect bit me in the night, and I never woke up again.  But all we could do was make the best of it, and we hit the town, taking a Red Bus tour of central London to get our minds off the filthy place. The bus tour was brilliant
,
and while on it
,
Jessica found a brochure.

She had always been interested in the spooky side of London, and after she read the brochure describing ‘A Jack the Ripper Tour’ I knew that we were going to be going on it one way or another.
 
By pure luck we got a cancellation, and even though it was going to cost each of us about a hundred dollars
in English p
ounds, we decided to do it as a once in a lifetime adventure. The brochure had painted this amazing picture of a three hour tour. It included a guided coach tour of old London, with the highpoint of the tour being a sunset cruise along the River Thames. Then after this cruise the whole group would be taken to see some old dungeons, and finally we would all end in a real English pub, frequented by the Ripper and many of his victim
s.  Jessica became very excited as we drank high tea
in a posh hotel, known to be the last pickup point for the tour.   While still drinking our overpriced brew, in runs a small man shouting
,
“Ripper Tour
, party of three, where are you?
Ripper Tour, come on will ye, we’re late”. He repeated this a few times as he ran up and do
wn the foyer before we realized
h
e was talking about us. My laid
back Americans sauntered over to him while I tried to find a waiter to pay for the tea.  Our tour guide was in a panic as he tried to rush the ladies to the door, then
hardly gone
but a minute he ran back inside to tell me, “If you
’
r
e
not out in ten seconds, we’re leaving
. W
e’re late
,
can
’
t you see that”. It was at that point that I realized he was as Irish as I am, and knowing how we treat time, I decided to wait for my change rather than leave the expected tip of a ‘tenner’ to the snotty waiter.

I’m running down the foyer when our tour man once again pokes his head in the foyer and shouts, “Bus is going, NOW”
,
so I dashed for the door almost knocking over some old codger coming in. The little coach was full up in the front, and when I arrived out I saw our guide wrench open the back door and begin pushing JoAnn and Jessica into the back of his minibus. I asked if I should pay him now, and then he realized I was one of his own kind and says
,
“Yerra not at all boy, you can pay me later
. S
ure we’re late, hop now will you
,
or we’ll miss the ould ship”
.
I hopped i
n
and he slammed the doors
. Then
he ran round to the front shouting
,
“On Cedric, on, and don’t spare those English horses”. Cedric the driver gunned the engine, and we shot out into London
’s rush hour traffic. I
nstinctively I felt it was going to be a very interesting evening.

All this excitement has been great for us so far, and the three of us
began to laugh at this poor man
with his distinctive Dublin accent in the middle of London.
Soon I noticed two really sour-
faced
,
middle-
aged Americans sitting in the seats next to us. They mad
e it very clear too that they did
n’t like us at all
. W
e were probably too happy for them. “Well some people can n
ever be on time for anything…N
o they can’t dear, and now we are all going to be late because of them
. T
his is not good enough”. This remark was pointedly aimed at the three of us, who then laughed even more just to annoy them. By then Cedric was stuck in the crawling traffic, and our guide, who was probably called Paddy, began his touring spiel. He told us about London’s history, alluding quite often to England’s many ‘conquests’. I soon got the impression that he didn’t like the English one bit. He showed us the Tower of London
,
describing the many heads lost there, and some Roman ruins, but much of this we already knew from our earlier Red Bus tour, so we talked and laughed
,
ignoring him completely. This laughter and talk was maddening the two sourpusses beside us even more by then, and every time I took a sneak look at them, they were glaring back at us. Taking the odd break from his ‘conquests’, our guide began taking a shin
e to a much nicer American lady
who was sitting beside him up front. He started to chat her up with his old Irish Blarney. However
,
unknown to him, or maybe he didn’t care, he had left his microphone turned on, and between his outbursts on the ‘English oppressor’, we got to hear him try and make a date with the American woman. It was simply hilarious listening to him making his play for this nice lady. “A
nd where are you from dear lady?
Oh New York is it, sure I know it well”. While Paddy was making good progress, we seemed to be making none, so he announced that it was not looking too good for the Thames River Cruise, simply be
cause we were stuck in the “bloo
dy English rush hour traffic”
.
Paddy assured us all though
that he could give us
just as good a tour on his bus
as you
’
d get on any o
uld English ship on their river. At that news
the sourpusses went ballistic, shouting
out loud enough for all to hear
that the Thames River Cruise was the reason they took the tour in the first place. As expected
,
some others began bitching as well
,
and Paddy soon came under severe pressure to get us to the boat. His next announcement was that Cedric
, our driver and h
is very good friend
,
would now take drastic action
. T
hen suddenly our minibus almost flipped over as Cedric made a sudden and very sharp illegal U
-
turn in the middle of London’s traffic. This had to be illegal
,
and to escape detection he drove up over a footpath
,
landing back on the road with a loud bang. Then he headed off down a narrow street at high speed. As we flew down this street, Paddy
,
who was by then really agitated
,
add
ed
a new
titbit of information telling
us that the house we had just passed was the home of the ex British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, and he offered a reward for anyone
who would do him a favour and
shoot her. I nearly fell out of the seat at that shock
ing
news. Obviously he had no love for the British, and despite our traffic problems
,
here he was preaching terrorism agai
nst a famous English politician
who actually was ill at the time.

Leaving us to think about
his reward, Paddy soon returned to his future date, but
every so often he gave us an up
date on our progress
,
which was that it was too slow. The noises from the sourpusses grew ever louder and people started to really pester Paddy with questions
,
interrupting his potential night of pleasure.  In desperation he announced th
at he would make a call to the
Captain of the ship,
who just happened to also be a
very go
od friend
of his, and as a special favour he would try and get him to hold the ship for us. I thought it rather strange that from the start he constantly referred to our boat as a ship, and even though I knew better
,
I could not shake the idea of a sailing ship from my mind.

He made the call and triumphantly announced that the ship would be docked at the London Eye
,
and that it would wait as a favour to Paddy
,
but only for five minutes.  He stood up and announced that we could still make it, provided we followed him precisely through the crowds milling around the Eye, and we were to not delay the moment Cedric stopped the bus. By then I had decided that we must not lose sight of Paddy no matter what, and as he and I were both small
,
I wanted to be right at his heels the minute we stopped. So I told JoAnn and Jessica that I intended to be out the back door the minute Paddy went out the front door, and to be right on my heels as we raced for the boat.

I believe the two sourpusses must have overheard this advice, and feeling that the Irish would know their own, they too planned to be out as fast as us and follow me and Paddy to the boat. Paddy shouts
,
“Nearly there, be ready now
.
I’ll hold up me hand so ye can see me”. The bus suddenly stopped and Paddy shouts, “Out, out, follo
w me, and keep me hand in sight
as ye head for the Eye and the ship
. D
on’t delay
,
” and at that he leaps out the front door, quickly followed by myself and my g
ang out the back door. As usual
I lost Paddy immediately, and I couldn’t see a sign of him.  Figuring the boat had to be on the water somewhere, I took off in the direction of the river. My Americans were chomping at my heels
,
but I didn’t know that
. S
o too were the sourpusses, as well as some Germans, Italians, and about six or so others. Ap
parently I was running like an o
strich, with my head stuck out in front and tail to the wind, and I had a look of sheer determination engraved on my face. The Ripper Tour group were
by then reduced to a bunch of l
e
mmings, all following an Irish o
strich heading for the Thames River. When I did arrive at the wall overlooking the dock, to my surprise
,
and to the shock of the others
,
we saw our cruise boat he
ading out into the current with
Paddy’s people all waving back at us.  In rage the sourpuss began to shout at me
,
“He specifically said follow him to the Eye, and you led us all astray”
. H
e seemed to be furious. It was about then that I saw Jessica pull her hood up around her beautiful face, and she said to me
,
“I think its time we disappeared”.  It was good advice, and the three of us took off running once more, this time directly into the middle of a million tourists at London’s famous Eye.  We had escaped the wrath of my
followers. When it seemed safe
we stopped and broke into tears of laughter, recounting over and over ‘my famous run’ for the boat. Then it dawned on me that we had not paid a cent, but the others had paid
a fortune, and must be
totally lost in London
with no c
ruise, no Ripper pub and no Paddy to entertain them.