You have to love this country....

Saturday night, there I was all dressed up and looking pretty, full on with pink toes, glancing with what can only be described as a look of annoyed perplexity at the map in my hands. Good old multimap, the fail safe for all new directional ventures seemed to have let me down. The station was behind me, the road I came down on the map, but this stupid Margravine Gardens was meant to be on the other side of the station. Not where I was hopelessly meandering waiting for divine intervention in that short distance been Baron's court tube station and Matt's house on stupid Tasso road. Stupid map. Stupid suburb in zone 2. A quiet little residential street off the cemetery, lined with neat little houses and not a soul to be found amidst all the quaintness. And why should these domesticated souls be wondering the streets at 8 o'clock on a Saturday waiting to be accosted, might you ask? Well, because I'm bloody well lost aren't I???

So, there I am, a glamorous vision impatiently tapping her toes (well, it might have made for a better effect if I'd had on murderous stilettos, but I can look haughty in chappals as well…maybe), wondering just what the hell to do, when a-ha… a police car, without it's sirens wailing…. that just slowed down to a pause a few feet ahead of me (not surprising as I was standing on the corner, and well, guess it's good policy to follow some of the traffic rules they prescribe for the civilians)… so I tentatively waggled my fingers at them wondering if they might stop en route to their important business and point me on my way… Not that I was hoping for much as my last few encounters with the police in various locales weren't exactly my most glorious moments - Bombay in Dec was to have them ask for my license because I was apparently in a bus lane (yes, really…. A bus lane… in BOMBAY!!), and before that in Spain, a couple of parking tickets, one which I had to pay, and the other for which I can't return to Vejer in case they have my mug shot up at the local taverna, and even before that, in Austria, a hefty fine for speeding (well, for getting caught actually….), but I digress. My tentative waggling was because of those latent but overpoweringly grim memories of the Swiss police. The very same ones took the curve midway up a mountain barely slowing down to peer at us. Us? Four hapless women, at less than their usual stunning selves (3 min. 12 seconds in that weather will do it to you), crawling around the car tyres in the subzero temperatures so characteristic of a charming Swiss winter, making pathetic attempts at putting on snow chains… (as it transpired, they were the wrong size for this bloody car, and no, I have no idea why therefore they were in the boot!!). Did the protectors of the peace commiserate? Check for frostbite? Throw us a bounty bar? Ask for our phone numbers??? Hell no. They looked at us with their patented impassive faces, and just kept driving.

So, thusly, the tentative waggling of the fingers – almost apologetic if you will. A sort of, 'could I possibly have your attention if its really not to much trouble…', without expecting anything really. The driver hadn't noticed me, but there was someone in the back seat who did, and said something to the driver so they came to a full halt in the middle of that tiny street, so I elegantly scurried up and asked them if they could put me in the right direction to Tasso road… hmm what road? T a s s o… ah Tasso – don't know where it is luv, so I conjure up my rubbish map… and we have a confab about that, with me doing my graphic directional hand display, and disparaging the map while I do it (women are so good at multitasking). No joy… they hadn't a clue either, but hey, at least they stopped!!

And now, especially for the Swiss, pay attention…. This is truly the city's finest… 'Tell you what luv, why don't you just pop into the back and we'll drop you off?' 'What?!' really???' 'Yeah – we're dropping him off anyway..' nodding to the bloke in the back. 'If you could, that would be fabulous! Thank you!' and before he could change his mind, I lunged for the rear right door, and slid in as gracefully as a desperately lost woman in chappals can, and lo and behold, the prisoner in the back was this rather good looking chappie…!! Betterer and betterer!!! 'We'll just drop him off first… where are you off to then, a birthday party?' asks the driver chattily, and it's just like being at a tea party. 'actually, it's a barbeque… but it was his birthday a few days ago…' 'Ah, then you should leave behind any bottles you might be carry in the backseat' Uh-oh – he's busting me for alcohol possession?? Ah no – he's been funny, English ishtyle, and I giggle in appreciation and partly with relief… (being Mumbaichi mulgi and whatnot…these things can be stressful)

And then, we're back at Baron's court stn, dropping off the good looking dude, and now we're down to business. 'can you have a look at the map then' driver asks buddy in passenger seat 'don't have my glasses so won't be able to read anything…' uh-oh. He didn't really say that did he? I mean what the hell kind of a policeman goes around in his car, visually impaired??? Naturally, I don't say anything – my mother brought me up with good manners. 'Right luv, you have a look then..' So I do, and we head off in some direction which I'm pretty sure is the wrong one… see, it's not that I don't know my way at all, it's just that I need to be able to find my way through the cemetery but they shut at night. A bit futile if you ask me since no one's really going to leave…! But as usually, yet again, I digress. Where were we? Ah yes, heading the wrong way, when 'what's your name?' 'Apara' (great now he's going to arrest me), 'nice to meet you' and shake his hand with my left returning the sentiment with heartfelt warmth…. I was too surprised to negotiate the right hand around the headrest…. and then I explain as best I can to the driver whose name, rather appallingly, I can't remember, that I think it's in the opposite direction. (that's an awfully long sentence). So we turn in the right direction, and the younger, cuter and blinder officer takes charge, and gets the sat nav going….and starts giving directions. Now, this is too much, and I just can't resist, so I ask… 'you can see that without your glasses?' 'don't you trust him?' 'it's just that he said he couldn't read the map without his glasses, and I'm as blind as a bat without mine….so I was wondering..' Younger, blinder grins and points to the sat nav screen 'I'm just directing him in the general direction of that square, see, that's where Tasso road is'. Hunh. I didn't even see that… but now with his finger pointed at it…. Voila! So we follow his directions, and driver takes us up the wrong way, so we have to reverse… and I ask if they're about to go off shift – can't imagine them, no matter how friendly, just offering minicab services to all directionally challenged folk on the street. And yes, they were, therefore the dropping off of handsome at the station before calling it a night themselves. 'I'm sorry….!' 'oh no – no matter luv, you just have a pint on us..' 'wouldn't you like to come in with me for a drink?' 'ah – most people don't like us coming into their homes…' 'I'm sure Matt's been pretty good this week..' and then, we're turning into tasso road. 'What number was it?' '20' I return pat. Then I'm wondering… is it? Or did I just dream up that figure? Anyway, I get dropped off at Matt's door…and they insist I have a drink for them, but decline my freely bandied offer of generous quantities of Matt's alcohol. So I exit the car and promptly scramble through my bag for my mobile to make sure I don't ring one of his neighbours doorbells, meandering away from #20 and the darling men, are waiting for me…. 'number 20's this one..' and they wait to see me safetly unlatch the gate and walk to the door, before reversing their way out of Tasso road and to whatever pub they'd go to after they knock off work. Muaaah. My money on the Metropolitan police… everytime!! Muaah.