Thursday, March 20, 2003

The book signing

AOG, London

Today I went to a book signing in the West End of London. The author was a Spanish lady called Lala – which is a very unusual name for someone from Spain. With her was a Chilean poet named Maria Eugenia Bravo. She read one of her poems and I found it very touching. So much so that I got slightly teary-eyed. She was very affable, jovial, funny and, most of all, well spoken. She was Lala’s friend and she volunteers at the refugee council where I hope to be one day helping out- or so I hope. I certainly tried to squeeze information and favour from Ms Bravo in that direction. Later on, after questions had been asked- for once I also asked a question- I bought her book and asked her to sign it. This is the first time I do this in my life. Even more forward than that, I asked for her email address and got it. I hope I can befriend this lady one day, but who knows. The Spanish, believe it or not, can be as funny as the British when it comes to things like that.

On my way home, with my head filled with essays, books and plans, I came across one of my most feared public shows in full swing. An anti-war demonstration in Admiralty Arch. I walked by.

Mobile in hand- the one with the American flag motif- sandal-shod (from Zara) and wearing my olive green sweater over my shoulders à la Euro-prep trying to get by as quickly as possible. How I did not get stoned by the participants I do not know.

I did stop for a moment to look at the participants and wondered if I could take part of said manifestation. I suppose the participants would have been very pleased had I joined their cause. But I know only too well that I could not do that. So instead I walked around them and tried to come home through Whitehall whilst trying to get my Boyfriend on the phone to tell him of the day’s news, and having to cancel dinner with my Mother because of the evening’s events.

Whitehall was just devoid of traffic with a growing number of deviated buses which just sat by the side of the road like dying elephants letting out their human cargo in droves and not allowing anyone else back on until further notice. Eventually, since Whitehall was off-limits, I was able to walk back home; having to walk through the demonstration so as to go trough St James Park- but not before proving to a police officer that I lived where I said I lived. When I got home my feet were very tired and I went to sleep but not before starting Lala’s book.