I am using this blog to offer a public apology to a woman who was sitting on the upper deck of a London bus last night. I hope she wasn’t too traumatised by what she witnessed and that the memory will slowly and permanently fade from her mind. If not, I think she’ll sue.
I should explain.
Our apartment above The Spanish Onion Cafe is one story up a flight of stairs and has windows which look right out onto the busy street below. There are cars and buses and very determined people who walk very fast carrying brief cases and satchels who get on those buses. Did I mention buses? They honk and they hoot and their engines shudder but like every other white noise in a big city you just get used to it. In fact you forget they’re even there or that they pass parallel to our lounge window to a strict timetable. You could probably even set your watch. Contrary to what you’re thinking this is not a review for London transport.
I should also explain my husband Guido has never had a fear of being seen naked. I think it’s a European thing. In Spain the people there let everything hang out. But over here in England it’s cold and wet and explains why I’m all buttoned up – metaphorically speaking. Well let’s just say I think that woman on the bus last night was wishing Guido had been zipped up too – and I’m not metaphorically speaking.
My husband watches TV in his boxers but sleeps in the nude. Occasionally he’ll take all his clothes off on the journey between the sofa and our bed yet inexplicably get distracted by something en route between the two. Like washing the dinner dishes or pumping up the back tyre of his mountain bike stark naked. I’m not complaining because it elevates what could be mundane domestic activities to a new and hugely entertaining level. Well, there’s nothing quite like it on Netflix and I like my thrills cheap.
“The roller blind looks wonky,” I said. We were both on the sofa. I was laying down after a good lasagna. “It’s unhinged,” I said.
Like a lot of things around here.
“Yeah,” said Guido, “It needs 2 mins with my power tool.”
There’s nothing like a good drilling on a chilly Saturday night, and, Guido’s boxer shorts were already half way down so he’d pricked my interest. He got up and balanced one leg precariously on the arm of our chesterfield. A feeling of impending nudity swept over me.
“I’ll try a good jerk,” said Guido as he pulled hard on the cord.
There was a predictable – TWANG! – as the curtain hook screws sprang from the plaster, which fell at exactly the same moment as my husband’s shorts. And you see, it was then that the bus stopped right next to the window and a woman on the top deck slowly, and innocently, turned her head inward to our home.
It’s hard to describe the exact expression on her face. Eyes widened, jaw dropped, a mouth opened. There was shock and a whole lot of awe. It was like the porn version of the “Eleven O’clock Diet Coke Break.”
So, whoever you were, I’m sorry.
Guido, on the other hand, reckons you’ll be back tonight.