Taxi!

Firstly, it's true about the taxi driver. I had a few "Really?" emails. Here's his website: click here

I have a new tennis buddy: Justine's mum, Patty. She gets very loud and enthusiastic, is impressively knowledgeable, has all the old completed draws for the Grand Slams easily accessible by her chair, finds Rafa's nervous tic (continually pulling his pants out of his bum, for those of you who don't know) thoroughly entertaining, and has the long-running hots for Lord Carlos of Moya. El Carlissimo. Who in their right minds wouldn't? Ahhh! And she finds Andrew Murray Mint annoying and arrogant. Score! As they appear to say here.

North Beach looking towards Alcatraz Island

"It's an odd thing, but anyone who disappears is said to be seen in San Francisco."

That's what Oscar Wilde said anyway.

However, rather than finding the disappeared here, it seems that we have had a previous resident disappearance. So we get very loud knocking at our door and a beardy scruffy man (usually my type, I know) begging for, well, let's call her...Marissa. Most insistant he was. Looking quite...needy, shall we say? Eventually he asks, "So have you replaced Marissa?" At which point the never-knowningly-bashful Joanna shouts, "P!ss off! We're lesbians." So we're hoping that approach will get rid of most of 'Marissa's' ex-clients. And there was a shooting on the corner. It's like being back in Peckham.

View of SF from Sausalito
So what's new? I go to school and try to study but it's tough: brain neurons seized some years ago and the mid-terms are looming ominously. Last week I had a lovely day in Sausalito eating Sushi with my co-student Nicole followed by drinks with Chris. I was approached in the bar by an old guy who wanted to take me to a very posh dance at the Presidio. You know my penchant for a 'slightly' younger man. But doesn't it always seem to be that it's the old ones who love me? How unfortunate is this tiresome and very long-running discrepancy? I had almost extricated myself already, having been dealing with this type of situation for many, many years, but fortunately Chris turned up in the nick of time from the rest room(that's the loo...I'm soooooo US now) looking, well, 6 foot 2 (maybe more), marathon-buff and rather young and dashing. That put an end to it. He would have been so very handy in South America.

It was pouring with rain as I got the ferry back across to San Francisco, so I hopped in a cab to go and see Holly in North Beach. As we stopped at the traffic lights, the cab driver reached under his seat and pulled out...a clarinet. Yes indeed...an E flat clarinet which he proceeded to play as he drove into North Beach and straight past Holly's house. He turned back as soon as he realised he'd shot past. That was by no means instantaneous, I can tell you, but it meant I could get in the last few bars of Strangers on the Shore...which was nice.