Big Frank heads off for the Isle of Man leaving Bettie all alone in Old London Town where she’s amazed to discover the secret to making money in a casino.
So here I am in the Big Smoke. Feeling like a big schmuck. What do I think of London, you ask? Well, all I can say is, it’ll look a damn sight better when it’s finished. Big Frank has gone on ahead to set up shop on the Isle of Man – I said not to worry, I’d write – leaving me to reacquaint myself with the pomp and peculiarities of Old London Town. And, boy are there a lot of those! There’s also miles and miles of cobblestones which is just murder on the Jimmy Choos. No wonder all the women here wear sensible shoes. And I just thought London had a surplus of lesbians.
Look, diary, to make things clear: Frankly, I’m not one of those loud, crass Americans who are criminally obsessed with all things ‘England-ish’. Ut-uh. I don’t go all misty eyed when Dame Helen Mirren simpers even the simplest sentence or break down into sobbing fits every time I catch sight of a carousel of Princess Di postcards. Actually, while I find the thought of a country enslaved by a matriarch with more diamonds on her hat than there are stars in the firmament extremely appealing, the reality of this tiny island is far removed from the hype. I mean, it’s not all thatched castles and Jack the Ripper, I can tell you. And, roundabouts! Just don’t get me started on roundabouts…
My first morning, I decide to start making good on my promise to my beloved and do some research into the local gambling offerings. After a few dead-ends checking off from Big Frank’s list of top-places-to-bet-that-turn-out-not-to-exist-because-his-guidebook’s-four-years-out-of-date, I stumbled up the steps of the dazzling Rock Hard Leisure Palace off Piccadilly Circus. Ah, location, location, location. Being close to three McDonald’s and the Mamma Mia! musical was obviously no mere coincidence. It was marketing genius. Speaking of which, over at the crap tables I got to talking to this PR guru called Harvey Nichols. Apparently he’s named after the shop his parents bought the bed he was conceived in. Which was weird, but nothing compared to meeting his brother named the QE 2.
Still, back in familiar territory, I opened Frank’s expense account and started doing what I do best in these places: losing. Sheesh, I learned a long, long time ago, the only way to make money in a casino is to sleep with someone who owns one.
At this low point, my cell rang. It was my stepmother, the USS Invincible.
“You know I don’t approve,” she said, immediately.
“What?”
“I heard you were in England.”
“I heard you were on Alpha Centauri.”
“Don’t be facetious. Nobody’s gone that far. I’m on Pluto.”
If it’s not one thing, it’s the mother.
I hung up. It was either that or put the bitch on hold until she was dead. Anyhow, turning back to the tables, my Chinese croupier was handing me a new pair of dice.
“You like a crazy bet?”
You’d better believe it, buster. You’d better believe it…
