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The Hyde Park Stalking Incident

 I was chatting with a singer friend in London today. We played catch up, talked about family, life in general and old radios. While discussing getting older and feeding critters in parks, I made a reference to an incident I experienced in London's Hyde Park. Her curiosity piqued, she asked for and received the following tale.

In 2002, I got to do my first overseas tour. A handful of dates in the UK, arranged for me by my friend 2-Tone. It was indeed an experience to remember. My first trip outside of North America and by myself to boot. The tour, in many ways, validated my years of working as a musician. Stand or fall, I got to do it because someone thought I was definitely good enough to do it. I got to spend 3+ weeks in the UK, with my last couple of days in London, which were scheduled as days off/tourist visit time!

I'm a nerd. Always have been. I read lots of Sherlock Holmes and other British literature as a kid and devoured hours of British comedy on TV, in film, on record, etc., so given the chance to explore a bit of London was a dream come true. My hotel (recommended to me by a local travel agent here in Pittsburgh) was in Paddington, which he failed to inform me was in the heart of prostitute central! There were business cards and pamphlets in the phone boxes, stuck under doorways, tacked up on bulletin boards, everywhere! Yet, in London this just didn't look as tacky as one might imagine. I had adventures to pursue, just not of that particular nature. So, I took my day off and walked through the area up through Marylebone to Baker St and ventured all over. I visited the fictional home address of the aforementioned Holmes, saw Madame Tussaud's, Trafalgar Square and managed to get lost a few times as I was traveling on foot. Being a full-blooded American male, I was not about to stop and ask directions!

I eventually made my way to Hyde Park (after relieving myself on what turned out to be the back of Scotland Yard but that's a whole other story) to see a place I've heard about, read about and seen on TV so many times. It was everything I imagined and as it was early spring, everything was starting to bloom. The weather was pleasant by British standards...meaning not pissing down rain and not biting cold. By my standards, it was a good day for a leather jacket, which thankfully I had.

I'm an American. We are, contrary to what some might believe, friendly by nature. I'm from Pittsburgh. We take being friendly to new levels. We say Hi to everyone. Come to Pittsburgh and it's not unheard of to meet someone at a bar or restaurant or a shop and in short time be invited to their home for dinner. That's just how we are. Well, I said "Hi" to someone in the park, from a bit of a short distance and without my specs. Turned out to be a trans person (nothing wrong with that) who upon closer sight was a bit older and a bit leathery looking (again, nothing wrong with that. People age. It happens).

Well, it appeared that my natural friendliness was mistaken for something else. Maybe that part of the park is a cruising spot, I don't know. I was more concerned with the pollen induced reactions I was having to the spring-time plants. Metric tons of snot was filling my sinuses and my head felt ready to burst. After my initial, misunderstood friendliness, Miss Thing wasn't taking NO for an answer (hell, she didn't even bother to ask the question) and was following me everywhere and making sure I saw her as she tried her best to be cute and alluring. With how I was feeling, she could've been Elizabeth Hurley offering up her body, soul and a bucket of chicken! I was feeling less than wonderful and wasn't enjoying being stalked by anyone. So, I picked up my pace (which escalated the reaction I was having to all of the pollen in the air) and finally got shed of her...or so I thought. She apparently knew the park. She ended up ahead of me and heading my way. She obviously had her sights set on me and wasn't about to accept any substitutions! This is probably the only time my allergies have ever been useful. She came up to, looked me squarely in the eye and gave me an attempt at a seductive "Helloooo" (sounding not unlike Barry White with a British accent). I gurgled a thick, phlegmy but pleasant hello in return and then did what I had to. Placing a finger against one side of my nose, I launched a liter or so of goo out of my nose and onto the grass. The look on her face was just pure horror. I then cleared the other nostril and gagged up the slimy postnasal drip from my throat and spat yet another glob on to the grass. She was gone by this point. I must have seemed less attractive up close and personal and in my soggier-than-usual state. She could have at least offered me a tissue or directions to the nearest chemist! 


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