While the boys are away the wily wife plays

While John and his gang of four were off behaving badly in London Town I had a splendid week all to myself. 
My highlight would have to be my 'Ladies Do Lunch' on Saturday 30 June with old friends and new at the OXO Tower Restaurant. Great food, spectacular views and gorgeous friends. So lovely to catch up with you Jane and Kim.
My other high that week was having a  remarkable day in Tennis Heaven at Wimbledon. Having not been to the tennis there before I was a bit green about the regulated 'queue' system. When I arrived in the enormous car park field to see tents and a staggering amount of people in orderly lines I gasped. Then with the help of an Ozzie couple I'd latched on to we saw the end of the line made easy by a cheerful person holding up a big sign with 'End of the Queue' printed on it. We lined up and were handed a fairly thick stylish little booklet 'A Guide to Queueing' and a numbered Queue Card with my number 07749. I laughed out loud, only in England would you be handed a book on their mastered art of queueing. The bubbly little group of young helpers advised us that they take 8000 people a day for Ground Admission so you can see by my number I was in! High Five! Oh yes, that's not accepted etiquette so I lowered my hand and toned down my enthusiasm. As we meandered closer and closer to the entry gates we were entertained, given drinks, stickers and chatted to by fresh faced staff. They made this whole queuing thing really fun.
After only one and a half hours I was in and I had bubbles and butterflies in my tummy. My first impression was that this was just like a huge English Summer Party and like a kid at an amusement park I couldn't decide on which ride to go on first. Not a problem after checking the board, finding the court and having the luck of the Irish finding a perfect seat at each event. One word...Fabulous!
So, one has to indulge in the mandatory Pimms and the strawberries & cream as well as soaking up as much top class tennis one can absorb, this was becoming a very special day. Then we had rain, so with Lady Luck with me this time I rubbed shoulders with Lindsay Davenport while waiting out of the rain and then Roger Federer came past. Well, that completed my day. I checked out the other tennis stars but Federer is my hero so with stars in my eyes or were they little yellow dots I floated out of the grounds. On my trip back I was planning a return trip for the next day and maybe the following day too. I was hooked.
My other home for that week was the V&A, Victoria & Albert Museum. I am slowly working through the museum and I keep discovering more and more. Now getting used to the ever expanding world of reference material found hidden in the user friendly computers I realise that this Museum goes on infinitum. 

There was also one little event that reinforces my opinion regarding certain sections of the service community.
The other day I was lining up (refining my queuing technique) at the cafe at the Westminster Library. They do a good coffee and you get free Wifi so it's a good place to take a break. The next minute a well dressed feisty  little Indian woman asks the coffee maker for some hot water as her coffee was cold and she wanted to heat it up. 'Ok' said the guy 'but there is a charge'. This ignited the little lady and she raises her voice saying her coffee is cold. 'No' the guy maintains' these are the rules. The charge is 25p'. At this time my turn has come up and I am about to place my order whilst more high pitched verbals continue to be thrown across the counter in both directions. I look at the other older guy in front of me and say' give her the water'. 'No' he says,' the rules are that you have to pay for it. He adds that people come in with their own tea bags and ask for hot water'. At this stage the queue behind me has increased to six and the racket in the corner is escalating. Said queue are rolling or diverting their eyes and huffing. I then say that this is poor customer service, not a good look and her case is different as she doesn't have a tea bag. This was a small Indian tea-bag-free-lady! This does not look like your classic Westminster hot water con artist. He just went quiet. I had thrown him a curved ball. He took my money and said to wait for my cappuccino at the end of the counter near the squabble. I knew then, the rule here is not to get involved. I think she paid her 25p and went back to her friends muttering and mumbling. Everything just settled down and just the sipping and slurping noises emanated from this little cafe. 
PS: On reflection I should have said to the guy behind the counter 'here's a fiver, the hot water is on me'.