‘Come on, man, wake up! What are you doing lying here like this, dressed like this?’ He was a young black man, confident, street-wise, and he sounded let-down, disappointed. I think it was the suit and tie. He didn’t like to see good clothes treated like that. The tie meant I was a conservative type with a comfortable home to go to, and I had no business making an exhibition of myself like this.
I sat up. His minicab was right over there, he said. He could take me home. Or, better still, there was a cheap hotel just around the corner. He could walk me to the end of the street and point it out. It wasn’t good for me to be laying there on the pavement like this, man. I could get robbed or anything.
Perhaps I should have told him that he had formed the wrong impression. I’d worn the suit and tie initially to attend a garden party celebrating the revival of the English essay. I didn’t normally dress like this. And the pavement was comfortable. I was happy to be here. It is where I expect to spend my retirement. And what is it, anyway, about a suit and tie, I wondered, that makes otherwise intelligent people jump to the wrong conclusion?
Earlier in the day I’d met a retired Australian journalist, Rob, 40 years on Melbourne’s Herald Sun. He was sitting at the next café table. He’d said ‘G’day!’ and I’d said ‘All right?’ and we’d got chatting. No one in their right mind spends 40 years on the Melbourne Herald Sun without accumulating a fund of funny stories and Rick told them with aplomb. Then we went to the pub for a pint, where one thing led to another, and by the early evening we’d been in every pub between Portland Place and Soho.
So now Rob and I were standing in a packed Soho pub and looking out of the open window at the passing women. We fixed on mutually agreed ones and Rick indicated with a ‘Yep’ or a ‘Nah’ whether he found them sexually attractive or not. My idea. More than anything else in life Rick loved ladies, clearly, and I wanted to see the extent to which he discriminated between them. Woman of all shapes, colours, classes and ages passed by our window. ‘Yep,’ said Rob. ‘Yep. Yep. Yep, yep, yep. Yep.’
On the far side of the street, about 30 yards away, a couple came and stood beside the kerb. She was lovely. They were about to cross the road, then they changed their minds and held a conversation instead. What about her, I said? ‘Yep,’ said Rob. On an impulse I walked out of the pub and across the road and presented myself. Would they like to come across and have a drink with me and my Australian friend, I said. We’d been watching them, I said, and we were wondering to what extent our visual impression matched the reality.
They didn’t appear in the least surprised and graciously accepted. Five minutes later we’d done the introductions, ordered the drinks, told each other what we did for a living, complimented the woman on her striking beauty, and now it was their turn to say to what extent their visual impression of Rob and I matched the reality. The guy, late twenties, camp as you like, was a front-of-house person for a famous restaurant. He was used to making snap judgments about people, he said. To me he said, ‘You’re a lovely, lovely man, but you’re uptight. What are you so uptight about, sweetheart? And why are you dressed like that? My God! Lose the tie, dear! I implore you! Lose the tie so we can all relax!’
He’d got me completely wrong, I swear it. I was so relaxed I just shrugged at him and laughed. Then he had to go to work and Rob said he had to meet someone, so the woman and I went on to a club. And now here I was, several hours later, lying on the pavement, and once again my tie was upsetting someone.
The taxi driver saw me to the crossroads where he pointed out the hotel. I had no intention of staying in this hotel and instead made my way down Haymarket towards Trafalgar Square, where I hoped I might find a quieter pitch outside the National Portrait Gallery. About halfway down Haymarket I encountered a group of young Asians. Seeing my tie, one of them, the wag, presumably, stepped forward and said, ‘Excuse me, sir. I’m looking to join the Freemasons and I was wondering whether you could help me in any way?’ His friends were solemn with suppressed mirth.
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