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The man with the floral handkerchief

It is around 5 am and I am getting ready to leave London. Christmas is fast approaching. The usual routine for this time of the year: getting up at the crack of dawn. Catching the early bus while it’s still dark outside. At 7 in the morning the pale lights of the aurora haven’t kissed the London’s sky yet. I am now standing on the tube, already crowded and full of people, trying to balance my trolley with my handbag which contains my computer, a tablet, kindle and two phones plus cables and chargers. The day before I had a chat with David, my neighbour, and he convinced me that even a safe area like the one we live in it’s not safe at all, and we should replace the glass on the front door with reinforced glass panels. For this reason I decided to take all valuable electronic possessions (and the only valuables) with me.
‘Are you sure we need to?’ I asked, ‘They are ugly’
‘What’s better’ he replied ‘ beautiful or safe?’
‘Beautiful’ I said without any hesitation. He gave me a look of commiseration and went to his flat upstairs.

Here I am, it’s only just gone past 7:30, standing near the train’s door, thinking about yesterday’s conversation and eagerly eying up a free seat when a guy jumps into the empty seat ahead of me. ‘Rude’ I think, ‘rude, rude, rude’. It was mine. I was standing next to it, patiently waiting for the sleepy passengers to get out and free the corridor. With my seat lost forever, I lean against the glass panel in a very bad mood. At the next stop a man jumps in, just in front of me, and brings with him a whiff of strong but pleasant perfume. The man is wearing a greyish blue tweed check jacket; his hair is short and impeccably parted on one side, the colour is pale blond. Everything about him is neat, fresh, elegant and tidy. An air of extreme confidence oozes from every pore. But what attracts my gaze, like a magnet, in the direction of this extraordinary creature is a floral handkerchief popping out of his front pocket. So delightful! Light blue with little red and yellow flowers. It is like a splash of colour on the anonymous neon-lighted train. It is like bringing a peace of Provence meadow to work. I had regained my good mood, and a sense of ‘I know why I am here’ pervaded all the cells in my body. ‘Well worth the journey on the overcrowded train’ I thought. This is why London is so special, anything can happen, even a man with a floral handkerchief. The tube train approaches the final stop. I pick up my two heavy bags and I get ready to get off when the man stops and says ‘After you’. I wanted to turn around and give him a big smile, but I wasn’t expecting it and all I could do was uttering a feeble ‘Thank you’ with my eyes fixed to the sign: Victoria Station. Our journey has come to and end. Good-bye man with the floral handkerchief. I wish you and your Provence meadow a very Merry Christmas.

(La Rubrica: Life in London)
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