The Mint Paramedic

I love London, it is definitely in my top three of favourite cities. Bangkok is also there and I’m leaving room for the third as I haven’t quite travelled the whole world yet. Like Bangkok, if I can find an excuse to go to London I will. This time it was for the France Show at Earl’s Court. The show itself was possibly a slight disappointment, the catering was most un-French – lots of queuing, no seats and plastic cups. Ok, the coffee, when we’d finally got to the front of the queue was good – but drinking it standing up (as most were) or guiltily sitting on a seat, unable to talk to your fellow show-goers as you battle courageously in a vain attempt to avoid eye-contact with the thousands of seat-less coffee drinkers (as approx. 57 people were) rather marred the experience.

We met one very engaging man – and if you’re at all interested in French properties in the South West then I’d recommend his website and, other than that, spent an hour squashing around the French market, gazing with some small amount of interest at the overpriced ceramics and marvelling at the interesting array of dresses and shawls that make-up the total of French fashion. Parisians may dress well – the rest of France tends not to. Rob then queued for twenty minutes to get us an overpriced bowl of boeuf bourguignon and a large glass of wine each, and I took in the delights of the rather fractious British public; all of whom were too hot, too tired and just a little bit miffed at the dire catering. This show had been billed as a ‘Slice of France in England’ and it wasn’t.

At 2pm we had our wine tasting. It was informative and passable but, after six of some of Bordeaux’s finest I can still say quite safely that I’m a Burgundy fan. Apart from the Sauternes at the end which was delightful – and frustrating. Around 80% of the audience left their Sauternes but it just didn’t feel right to dash round the lecture theatre quaffing the dregs from others’ glasses.

Whilst the day started disappointingly the rest of Saturday was fabulous. We watched a very entertaining string quartet in the middle of Covent Garden market, and then drank very delicious coffee to the beautiful songs of a pretty skilled busker. His rendition of Mad World was inspiring and had me jotting ideas in my notebook for future writing. The café had outdoor heaters, so we sat outside in order to benefit from the atmosphere – and regretted it, no heater in the world is match for the fierce North wind which was ripping relentlessly through London on Saturday.

We made our way to Leicester square safe in the knowledge that you can always get a decent pie and a bottle of wine in one of the local pubs for under £30 for two. But it was Saturday and the theatre doors hadn’t opened so there were no free tables – then we spotted the posters outside St-Martin-in-the-Fields advertising a Vivaldi by candlelight – something I’ve long dreamed of.

The recital was lovely, only tainted by the fact that our seats were unreserved so we had to arrive at 7pm for a 7:30 start and then they didn’t start till 7:40 but the atmosphere and acoustics promised to make up for the long hours sitting on a fairly uncomfortable church pew. For the first 5 minutes. Then things started to blur, I spent a while squirming in my seat – half in the hope that that would make me feel better and half from the stress of knowing how embarrassing it was going to be if I had to leave mid-concert. I was sitting at the front and there was a door just to my left but this seemed to be for musicians only so my only exit was the huge doors right at the back of the church. Eventually I had to leave – you know something is wrong when you put your fingers to your face and it feels like you’ve plunged them into a sink, you also know something is wrong when other members of the audience lean backwards at your approach in a desperate attempt to keep as far from you as possible. My exit from the church was faltering, rather hazy and every bit as embarrassing as I’d imagined. The doors at the back-right of said church swing shut with a resounding thump preceded by a sharp intake of breath from the freezing outside – just as if the doors are sighing in disgust.

Fast-forward fifteen minutes (I’m sure you don’t want to know the details of my demise) and, after sitting for several minutes in the church entrance revelling in the cool breeze from outside, there was a lull in the music and I silently inched back in. Not feeling 100% but fairly confident that I was no longer facing my imminent death.

Both Rob and the lady next to me were sympathetic and very concerned. And then the lady offered me first-aid Little Britain style. And for all you that watched the mint paramedics and scoffed, let me tell you it really works. So I’m not sure who I should thank especially – the kind lady from Northampton with the mints (she insisted I had two based on her diagnosis) or David Walliams himself (clearly the founder of said technique) but either way it worked.

I’ll be back tomorrow with details of two wonderful places to visit whilst in London and a delicious recipe.