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Saturday 22 November 2008

Low Life

Gathering Storm

As I turned right at the bottom of Haymarket, I felt the first spot of rain on my face. I crossed over the Mall and skirted St James’s Park. Steady rain was now pattering on the leaves of the plane trees along Horseguards Road. I had no umbrella. No raincoat. I hoped to make it across to Birdcage Walk before seeking shelter. But before I’d reached the war memorial half-way across, someone opened a celestial stop-cock and the rain accelerated to a thunderous deluge. I ran towards a narrow pathway that appeared to lead deep into a shrubbery, and found, a short distance along it, the open door of a gentleman’s lavatory. I dived inside and shook the water from my hair.

I’d guess it was a late-Victorian gents lavatory: brick-built; spacious; tall, solid urinals. Daylight, such as it was, was admitted via a narrow opaque window above head height. Four men were in there already. They were smartly dressed and not wet at all. They appeared to know each other and were standing against the far wall in a relaxed, proprietary manner, as if it was a place where they often met to while away a summer afternoon. They weren’t speaking, but their silence was comradely. They were facing the door as though expecting other friends to arrive at any moment. I said hallo and smiled, and received a couple of guarded ones back. ‘This’ll keep the dust down,’ I said, unzipping and making for the urinal, reasoning that I might as well make use of the opportunity while I was there.

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