Chapter 5
Dog Soap and Unicorns
We continued walking (and dancing) along the platform for some time, until we came upon two humongous creatures, which appeared to be guarding a huge studded door.
‘Cool as!’ yelped Owen, as he began to run toward the massive beasts. Alice and I followed, but we soon became aware that, these sentinels were statues: a lion and a unicorn, which were standing up and forming an archway to the imperial looking doorway.
Owen had his arms around the leg of the unicorn, and was gazing up at it, like some sort of milksop in love.
‘He’s always loved unicorns’, whispered Alice, ‘but don’t say anything about it, because, he used to get teased about it back at home’.
I nodded my head like one of the pigeons that loiter about in Hyde Park, but, I couldn’t help but think, how, unicorns, like the phoenix, don’t actually exist. And there are so many live animals, whose very existence is threatened, and yet, they do not arouse the same paroxysms of adoration.
We were just standing about gaping, at the rather regal statues, when a light came on, and the imposing door began creaking open.
‘Oh, no’, whimpered Owen, ‘It’s probably some evil terrorists or gangsters, who will torture us for weeks, and we will never be seen again’.
Out popped the head of a lady, who reminded me of my Aunt Agatha, from Dorking.
‘How do you do?’ she asked smilingly.
‘Yeah, we’re pretty good’, Alice said, speaking for all of us.
‘Would you like to come in, and have a spot of tea?
We nodded dumbly, and walked toward the door.
‘Before we have tea, I was wondering if you young people would help me find some dog soap that, I was given in the Australian mining town of Ballarat last year. I know it was put down here somewhere, but I am unsure exactly, where. I need it for the corgis’, as they are simply burdened with fleas!’
‘Owen, my brother, and me, are from Australia’, Alice interjected with confidence. ‘We used to wash our dog, Rex, with a few drops of tea tree oil, in the water’.
We were through the door now, in a room full of lots of shelves and boxes. The lady turned around.
‘Is that so my dear. I have visited that country a number of times’.
‘Beauty!’ Alice replied, and added, ‘I hope you got to visit Sydney. That’s where we lived’.
‘Oh, yes, I did dear. Now come along and help me have a look for this pooch soap, and then, we’ll have some tea.’
Firstly, I had to adjust myself to the very bright fluorescent lights, which were illuminating this basement. This was a shock after the darkness of the tunnel, but, then, I noticed a rather large security camera, which was mounted on the wall and aimed right at us. Also, I was beginning to think that this lady looked somewhat familiar. But I couldn’t quite place her.
‘Now dears, just get some of those boxes down, and have a look for a package that says Tilley's ‘Timid Joe’ Dog Soap.’
There were some of the strangest things in these boxes. Owen pulled out a small book called: The Little Book of Chavspeak, and he looked really chuffed. ‘This would help me at school, I reckon’, he announced.
‘’Where do you go to school, dear’, asked the lady.
‘In Knightsbridge’, he replied grumpily.
The lady put her finger in the air, and said, ‘I have just the book for you dearie’. She shuffled off to an interesting old wardrobe, which had a large dragon’s head in the centre and swung both doors open. Inside, there was a whole stack of books, which appeared to be all the same. She selected three copies, and trundled back and handed out a copy to each of us. Owen looked down and read in a puzzled manner:
‘The Official Sloane Ranger Handbook.’
‘They’re heading for extinction dear and we must bolster the numbers’, the lady pronounced, and added, ‘and, stay away from Hampstead; there are too many dangerous ideas, floating in the ether around there!’
I don’t know why, but again, we merely nodded like hair-brained ponies, and continued to rummage through the various boxes. But every now and again, I would glance up at the camera on the wall, and wonder, if the presence of such surveillance should make me feel afraid, or safe. Certainly, though, I didn’t feel comfortable, or, free.
‘Oh look in here!’ bellowed Alice, as she pulled a long, blonde wig; silver, platform shoes, and a colorful kaftan out of a box, and dumped them on the floor. ‘These look like dressing-up clothes!’
‘Yes, they are dear. Sometimes I like stroll down and do a spot of shopping, incognito, at Harvey Nichols or Harrods. Or, take in a midnight walk’.
‘What fun’, Alice shrieked, putting the blonde wig on her head, and looking completely ridiculous.
Eventually, after going through boxes of, clogs, crocodile teeth, jars of peanut butter, shell necklaces, chandeliers, crowns and a few ceremonial masks, we found the dog soap. The lady clapped her hands with glee, and said, ‘now, let’s go upstairs and have some tea’.
We all trooped down a narrow passageway, which led to a lift. The button was duly pressed and we hurtled upwards to the second floor, where we came out in a hallway of fresh, blood-red carpet, and gilt frame mirrors, on white walls. But soon, we entered a sitting room with a migraine inducing, yellow, chequered carpet. On a separate, red, Turkey carpet, however, there camped a whole load of fat, vacuous looking corgis’.
‘Ha, ha! Imagine if that was a magic carpet, and all those silly dogs flew out the window’, snorted Alice. Luckily, the lady did not appear to have heard this soliloquy of silliness, as she was over by a small, yellowish timber table, where a large teapot sat, with four tea cups and saucers. I did find it very strange, however, to find that, cups were already set out for us, but such thoughts were whooshed away, by the sight of a three-layer, cake stand, which displayed an assortment of delish, sweet dainties.
We sat down on the assorted chairs and patted the corgis’, which came snuffling about for a cake and biscuit. The lady smiled at us happily, and took out her rather long knitting. Owen immediately sped over and sat at her knee, and watched, as she clicked and clacked the needles. ‘I’ve always wanted to knit’, he said dreamily.
As the lady explained the ins and outs of knitting to Owen: casting on and off and purl and plain, Alice and I frolicked about with a base guitar, which had been propped next-to a chintz chair. ‘Careful with that instrument now dears’, as it belongs to my grandsons’.
After tea, the lady said that, she would show us a secret door, which would take us outside. We followed her out of the cosy sitting room (the corgis didn’t even move: the indolent creatures!) and like a conga line, proceeded down the red carpeted hallway. The lady stopped in front of a tall and thin mirror, and pressed a button on the wall. It sprung open and we stepped through sideways and entered an old room, with a large four poster bed, which had some very ancient looking tapestry hangings on it. The room had the appearance of not having been used for a hundred years, and I thought that, there must be at least one spook haunting it.
We moved along and came out on another hallway, which had some moth-eaten old carpet on the floor, and rows of spooky old portraits, with eyes which appeared to be following us. Some of the men in these photos were wearing, white, long, curling wigs, high heeled shoes, and some odd, striped, puffy shorts.
‘I saw a bloke wearing something like that, down on Old Compton Street last week’, announced Alice, as we sailed past.
We came to a grand, carved staircase, and down we went. Then, it was a mind bewildering expedition, through rooms and rooms, and corridors, until we came to another mirror. The lady turned to us and said, ‘I am so pleased to have met you all.’ She then, pressed a button, and we found ourselves tumbling out onto the street.
The air outside was cold, and the sun was going down; it would soon be getting dark.
‘You know’, said Owen tentatively, squinting up at the building that we had just fal
len out of, ‘that lady looked a bit like The Queen, but the pink tracksuit threw me a bit’.
‘I had that thought myself’, I agreed. ‘But I was confused by those rabbit slippers; although, the tracksuit, also, had me befuddled’.
Alice, however, was marching ahead, and yelled, ‘we better get home, Owen, as Rhonda and Bruce will have a cow’. Then, she ran back toward me, gave me a hug and said, ‘thanks for having us over. Can we visit next week?’ I nodded (again) and off they ran, waving and dancing a jig.
I took off, in the growing cold darkness, toward home.
I was speeding through Hyde Park and getting close to home, thinking about fire places, hot water bottles and steaming cups of coffee, when a small man stepped into my path. He had a pointed schnoz, long, grisly, grey hair, and an overcoat which was way too large for him. And none too clean.
‘Hello me young sir’, he said, as stood before me, like a badly dressed gnome.
‘Good evening’, I replied, perhaps, with some hesitation.
‘Careful of that there pavement pizza’, he blurted, pushing me suddenly. I looked down, and indeed, someone had recently lost their lunch. Then, he came over altogether serious.
‘I heard tell from one of the old snouts that, you might have been involved in some underground dealings?’
‘What! I say; what are you implying?’ I countered with outrage.
The gnome-man appeared a bit crestfallen. Then he looked around quickly, to the left and then to the right and said out of the side of his mouth, ‘Come over to me digs and we’ll have a bit of a chin-wag’.
‘I was somewhat puzzled. However, I bowed and said, ‘after you good sir’.
He scurried into the darkness, and I followed, like a fully-fledged, nocturnal marsupial.
He led me to a wooded, damp bit of the park, where he suddenly fell down on his hands and knees, and rushed forward like a canine creature after a bone. Bemoaning the damage to my green, velvet breeches, I followed.
Beyond the ring of herbage, there was a small, green, plastic tent. Gnome man beckoned me inside, and I followed, all the while thinking that, I was being a silly nincompoop.
I sat with gnome man, upon a rather smelly, green, sleeping bag, and waited as he switched on a large portable lamp.
‘Look ‘ere chum, I don’t know how you came to find yourself underfoot like, but that there underground nook is a classified secret. Get it?’
I didn’t ‘get it’, at all. But I did understand that, he was telling me that, we shouldn’t have been anywhere near the subterranean train station. How he knew about it, though, was a mystery!
‘I would say that, it is none of your concern, actually’. I spluttered, indignantly.
‘None of my concern! None of my concern!’ He chanted like a broken record. He, then, stood up, drew himself up to his full height (which wasn’t much at all) and muttered, ‘I was entrusted, I’ll have you know; you young scallywag’.
Then I noticed an odd thing. As gnome man was making this incoherent speech, he was groping a shiny object around his neck. I peered closer. It was a key, and that key appeared to have a lion in the bow!