… I’d put a ‘posh’ frock on because Ed and I had an appointment in town. (We had been referred to an Ear Nose and Throat specialist to get a second opinion on Ed’s enlarged tonsil.) However, I sometimes feel that the vintage 60s little black dress and grubby trainer combo gets a little lost in translation when heading West.
The doctor has a consulting room in a magnificent building right on Harley Street. Presenting ourselves to the predictably turned out receptionist - Ed in his disheveled, old-fashioned Italia Conti School uniform and me in what might be construed as some kind of mourning get-up we suddenly felt like a pair of Victorian orphans that had wandered in off the street. Politely turning down her offer to use the lift, we ran excitedly up the grand staircase to the top floor as if arriving at the London residence of our wealthy benefactor.
It’s the same with the Volvo. The poor thing is quite misunderstood in the West End. The battered old estate is perfectly at home here amid the hundreds of other battered old estates (the car of choice amongst the large Hasidic population in the neighbourhood). Drive it into the Congestion Zone and alongside the shiny Minis, cute Fiat 500s and swanky Porsches it takes on the menacing persona of a vehicle from Grand Theft Auto V. Gesticulating cyclists fall by the wayside and pedestrians stepping out to cross the road jump back onto the pavement in fright when they see us coming. Great fun.
BTW - Turns out Ed will grow into his giant tonsil.
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