Trump, trumpets and titanic sea sickness
MR F and I have just returned home after nearly four weeks abroad to discover that autumn is definitely on the way, if not firmly bedded in. Which leads me nicely to Donald Trump who seems to think that all women are lining up to get under his duvet.
Presumably that is only beautiful blonde clones, and not the ‘slobs’ and ‘dogs’; his description of other females.
Our trip was to America and Canada where people are clearly very worried about the outcome of the presidential race. It was quite an experience to watch the first debate between Trump and Clinton on TV, live, along with the rest of the USA.
Even better was visiting the Cotton Club in Harlem – wonderful atmosphere; great jazz. We also had lunch with a friend of FJ* who works in NYC, and her American partner.
The holiday was great, although the return Atlantic crossing was very rough. I took to my bed like a Victorian lady minus the smelling salts, while Mr F, immune to the lurching and creaking of the ship, spent many a happy hour on his own in one of the bars.
I tried hard not to think about the Maritime Museum in Halifax where we had seen some Titanic exhibits (particularly when the captain announced that, at one point, we were not that far away from the site of the wreck). Mr F didn’t help by telling me, as he slid back into the cabin – the result of the wine or the ocean motion? – that he’d definitely just spotted an iceberg.
Trying out my land legs again in Uxbridge after our cruise, I popped into the Central Library where I stumbled on a group reading poetry. I was pleased to accept the invitation to listen in, and even more delighted to find myself in possession of a complementary coffee and custard cream.
Walking out of the library, I was stopped by a young man, who asked me shyly: “Excuse me. Do I look alright?” (This doesn’t happen to me on a regular basis.)
He quickly explained that he was going for an interview.
“Right,” I said, “Stand up straight and let me look at you. No breakfast down your front. Nice shirt. Smart suit. You look great. Good luck.”
If the understandably anxious candidate in the blue suit happens to read this column, I do hope he will let me know if he got the job.