(Artist unknown. It was found on a site about historical dressing.)
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`````Years ago, before my friend moved back east, we'd meet for drinks at The Four Seasons Hotel either before or after dinner. It was our usual watering hotel. At the time, there was an incredible bartender who worked there by the name of Dan. He knew what we'd order, and he would whip out that bowl of those very-spiced almonds which they had at the time.
`````One night, the three of us had been dishing, post dinner and laughing. We were about to leave when Dan leaned over and shared a secret with us.
`````"If you wait another half hour, then go down the escalators, the Queen will be returning from her visit to the interior." It turns out that she was staying at the hotel. It was fairly late, and there was no visible security and no hangers-on or paparazzi. The hotel, to my surprise, was dead.
`````So, down we went. Sure enough, the Queen and Prince Phillip pulled up in their ride and walked to the elevators. I was shocked at how close we could get, as the escalators came down to that very area. They waved---the Queen mostly. Phillip seemed as cold in real life as he does in interviews. I reflected on how tiring it must get to do this all day long and remain enthusiastic looking. She still looked quite refreshed too.
`````All of this provided me with great fodder to tease my friend, as at one time she had been sympathetic to the Separtiste Cause in Quebec. I'd ask if she'd like a subscription to "Monarchist Monthly" and she'd hit me. It was all in good fun, of course.
`````I thought of this event again, given the announcement of the impending wedding, and how it's going to be another huge production. I couldn't do it. I'll have to remember to call up my friend and ask if she got an invite.
Lucky you, I'm jealous considering I have a soft spot for most things English. But not Prince Philip he's a racist jerk.
ReplyDeleteI love all things French, but I think it's the Paris of black and white fashion magazines in the l950's. I want to be Audrey Hepburn in "Funny Face", sitting in a cafe debating Camus vs. Sartre while somebody strolls by playing that little accordian. It's not reality. The same goes for my love of New York.
ReplyDeleteLe sigh, I know what you mean about loving the black and whites from the 50's fashion magazines. The England I so badly want to see doesn't exist anymore. I love the tweedy very prim and proper England.
ReplyDeleteAnd as far as New York I still love more the idea of the NYC of the 30's-40's and the trashy sleazed out NYC of the 70's-80's. I always thought I was born in the wrong time period.