Traffic in London was a nightmare this morning because there are all sorts of road works in Pimlico and to make matters even worse, the Vauxhall bridge was closed. I ended up having my morning coffee next to the MI6 building after a long and stressful school run. One thing led to another and I started thinking of spies…
This is James Bond’s house. How exciting! I live in Spy land: Pimlico and Vauxhall are where you can find them when they are not on a secret mission. The location of some of their offices is meant to be a secret. Well, it turns out that, no later than yesterday, I was taking a bus to go near Pimlico station. At some point, the driver stopped and said “All spies to get off the bus now”. Well, not so secret then. The thing is, I am not a spy and this was my bus stop. So I muttered, “Actually, I live here”. All the other passengers didn’t say a word and got off looking at their feet. I felt that I was caught in the middle of the cold war. Very weird indeed.
Adding 2 and 2 together, I came to the conclusion that the office block on my street is one of such locations and apparently it is an open secret because even my florist knew it. After some careful observation, this is what I can tell you:
1. Spies don’t work during weekends. No black vans are coming out of the gates on Saturdays or Sundays;
2. Some spies finish work really early. Like before 4pm.;
3. Some spies look very fit. Others, well, not so much;
4. My florist thinks that they should buy more flowers.
But I digress. This morning, while I was daydreaming and admiring the MI6 building, I noticed that the guy sitting at the next table had blue hair. If you don’t believe me, here is the evidence:
The funny thing is that, apart from the hair, he had all the attire of the average office worker, with suit and blackberry. This got me thinking: maybe it is a signal: he is waiting for someone and the hair is the way the other guy is going to recognise him. Come to think if it, it is a very silly signal, because in London, you can see all sorts of hairstyles. Punk, green, rasta…you name it, we can see it everyday. Blue doesn’t stand out. I should have asked him but I was too shy to do so. I hope that the secret meeting went well.
The caffeine took some time to kick in. I started dreaming of a bus that would stop and say ‘Pimlico, home of the French Yummy Mummy’. In another lifetime maybe!
Muriel – A French Yummy Mummy In London