That dinner, held in the Long Drawing Room on the second floor of Dartmouth House, had quickly followed a welcome reception at the courtyard of the 245-year-old building. We made fast work of the Fillet of Lamb with Red Wine Sauce, Roasted New Potatoes and Chef’s Selection of Vegetables, Chocolate Torte with Raspberry Coulis, Coffee & Mints, washed down with Les Freres Blanc. We knew that an old friend and relation, Cristie Mayuga Morrisset, would fetch us at 8 in the evening, just as dusk began to fall, ever so slowly, on London town.
A tube ride on the Jubilee line, fittingly enough, and a short bus ride from the Kilburn station took us to Bobi’s flat in what otherwise seemed like a Pakistani housing block. The party was in full swing in the back garden, where extended tables groaned under multinational elbows and plates of grilled seafood. Among the photo-opping guests were our fellow Pinoys, the poet Ed Maranan, painter-videographer Arnan de Leon, and our travel sponsor, PNB Europe Managing Director Don Agrasada. We had to bring out our Dalwhinnie single malt to complete the picture.
Such nights of compatriot-ic revelry – in succession since we bade farewell to Joey Ayala, Grace Nono and Bob Aves who shipped out on our second day – conspired with our e-mail obligations to keep us in bed till midmorn. Only then could we take coffee while basking in the backyard’s summer sun, in the company of Bobi’s two pear trees and row of rose bushes, before catching Bus No. 16 for the leisurely crawl to Park Lane edging the Mayfair area.
Back to the meet. Which never proved boring, even as it reduced chances of consorting any further with the grand likes of the long-lost David Cortes Medalla, lording it anew at a pub called Angel, surrounded by a coven of worshipful international artists he had assembled for a Jubilee art exhibit. Perhaps we’ll do an e-mail interview of this fascinating friend and artist-guru one of these days.
The only other interlude was a lunch break with Ed and Don at a Zen-classic Japanese resto on Picadilly Place. And not much more, the meet now in full swing and heading for a finish, turning infinitely engaging on our last day together.
Colin Grant vouched for Speyside single malt, suggested we write the head honcho of the Sunday Times Wine Club so we can expect to be listed for delivery of a bottle of good old whisky.
Madame Laucas gave us a Brazil football shirt after hearing how we had waved Ronaldo’s No. 9 tee at a Malate resto to get him started on our predicted two goals against Germany. In turn did we hand her a packet of dried mango, for which she was most grateful, recalling how she once refused to heed neighbors’ entreaties to have her mango tree cut down.
We made friends with Dr. Verner and Dr. Gillian Bickley of Hong Kong, threatened to have our own champs in polemics challenge their students to an Internet debate.
We had a fine conversation with Dr. Ginette Randriambeloma of Madagascar on the coach trip to the House of Lords, intriguing her with our memory of how her home base of Antananarivo had figured in Norwegian novelist Agnar Mykle’s 60’s cult tale of romance, The Song of the Red Ruby, as a code between lovers.
Prof. Arne Zettersten of Denmark entertained everyone with an extended joke of an anecdote about Dr. Henry Kissinger and the King of Finland, or was it Sweden, perfectly illustrating with his punchline the travails of stumbling on English usage.
Mr. Robert P. Morse of the USA recalled, as we sipped red wine on the Parliament building’s terrace overlooking the Thames, with the London Eye that’s a gigantic Ferris wheel in full if distant view, how he had spent time as a Navy officer in Olongapo. Yes, he still remembered Fields Avenue, although he never did get to join the enlisted men’s nocturnal exercise. Or so Bob said.
Prince Michael of Nigeria said he had long wanted to visit Manila. We countered that if he ever did he’d be regaled with constant questions on his possible affinity with Hakeem Olajuwon.
Sir Victor Glover Kt GOSK of Mauritius always beat me to the smoking areas, but only once did we exchange polite words, in English, of course.
Dr. Alexandru Budisteanu of Romania recounted how his country had to traffic in the Dracula myth after Bram Stoker had popularized the wrong character ("It was the father, not the son, who gave rise to the legend."), and how the famous name originally meant Dragon, thus the Devil.
Mrs. Orkhon Gantagtokh of Mongolia presented a lovely scroll of appreciation to Mrs. Mitchell, with the calligraphy in English and her native language done by her on gold-colored silk.
Mrs. Margarita Mudrak of Russia asked everyone to make sure we would meet again in splendiferous St. Petersburg, roughly the same time next year.
The Baroness and Lady Heather Brigstocke CBE requested the pleasure of everyone’s company for Lunch in the Cholmondeley Room and Terrace, House of Lords, where for a welcome toast she first quoted George Herbert: "Be useful where you live." Thence modified the injunction to "Be youthful where you eat."
And everyone kept calling us Professor, making us feel the full gravitas of distinction cum dignity on our suited shoulders.
On our last evening together, we were treated to an excellent guided tour of Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre, which has risen anew at Bankside, thanks to the pioneering spirit, vision and persistence of American filmmaker and producer Sam Wanamaker.
At the Balcony Room during the buffet dinner, a talk by Merrick Baker-Bates, Chairman of the International Committee of the International Shakespeare Globe Centre Ltd., had everyone in stitches, and turning deeply appreciative of this wonderful kind of town, his wondrous kind of English. Even as everyone mouthed it, trippingly on the tongue.