Tina and Tasman left at 5:30 exactly this morning to spend a few days in Amsterdam, leaving Lucy and I in the flat on our own. As a result I now have the opportunity to tell a brilliant story illustrating what is either an unusual knack of mine for attracting famous people (in particular, those of personal significance to me), or luck, or both.
Lucy and I got up at some point with no particular plan in mind for the day. After however long it took her to get sick of me playing David Gilmour guitar solos on the couch (and on my guitar), she decided she would go to the bank to pay our months rent using the money we three had supplied her with. After much deliberation, I decided to go too. We walked to town, paid the money at the bank, then realized we had no idea what to do for the remainder of the day. On a whim, I suggested we followed The Strand until we found a Subway sandwich bar, then develop a plan of action. We ate and realized we had no plan. It was more or less at this point that we decided to pick a direction we hadn’t been in and walk in it until we felt like not doing that anymore. We walked for about twenty minutes, talking about how cool seeing celebrities had been, and how cool it would be to see a member of Pink Floyd (specifically Roger Waters, but that bit makes the next bit seem less impressive, so feel free to ignore it if you so wish). Eventually, we decided to turn left on the grounds that we were bored of the street we were on. Having done so, we found ourselves walking down the same street as David Gilmour. The sheer coincidence of this was most odd.
I was struck by how much David Gilmour looks like David Gilmour. Much more than any other celebrity I’ve seen here. In fact, much more than anyone else I have ever seen.
After having talked about this for a bit, we made our way back to the flat, satisfied that we had done something, and satisfied that we didn’t need to do anything else.