Later on that day I make my way into central London and Leicester Square. I'm expecting the cinema where Jess and I are having our 'meet-up' to be one of the big ones that you see on TV when the Brits have a premiere with the stars in attendance. There's none in the vicinity by the name of the Prince Charles though, and I struggle to find a local to ask, the place being heavy with tourists mooching about.
Spotting a couple of mounted police officers slowly making their way through the square, I mosey up to them with the intention of asking for directions.
"Hi," I say to them, hamming up my American accent on noting they're both female - like it makes a difference to me getting anywhere with them. "Could you ladies direct me to the Prince Charles Cinema please?"
While they look at each other to see if one knows more than the other, I check out their garb. I'm always intrigued to see female Police officers, and the novelty of the foreign informs makes the notion even more sexy. That's aside from the fact that this two are in equestrian gear: form fitting jodhpurs, leather boots in stirrups, not to mention their strong legs straddling a beast.
Turns out London's finest aren't totally sure, but think it's - "Leicester Place; just round the corner," - saying so in a Cockney accent which reminds me of Katie. I'm sure Katie would appreciate their charms too.
"Thanks," I say obligingly, and start to head round the corner to the confusingly similar named Leicester place.
That's when I see Jess walking over with a slightly worried look on her face. "Hey. What's with the Police?'
"Oh I just needed directions," I reply.
"Oh, no problem," she says, looking relieved. "So its just over this way" - taking my arm and directing me.
"Its not one of the big ones," she tells me. "More an indie kinda art house place. I'm told the building originally functioned as a theatre, but after a short period supporting the dramatic arts, the venue was reinvented as a porn cinema."
"And now its an art-house cinema?" I muse.
"Yes, they show a lot of contemporary world cinema, as well as golden oldies and even sing-a-long movies like the Rocky Horror show."
"So what are they showing tonight?" I ask, all raised eyebrows highlighting my worry at the prospect of a singalong.
"Well something a bit edgy," she replies. "You'll have to wait and see. I won't spoil it for you."
This is indeed a little gem of a theater tucked away around the corner of the busy square, with the entry a reasonable price. It also has a bar with stools, much like a genuine English bar.
"So what's your poison Patrick? My turn, given that you just bought the tickets."
I read recently that it's all about wine and wasabi peas at these kind of places so deviate from my usual Irish whisky and opt instead for a - "White wine please? Sav blanc?" - while omitting the wasabi peas.
It's three deep at the bar but Jess works some kind of dark magic to turn back to me sharpish with "a crisp New Zealand Marlborough for the gentleman."
"Thanks," I say, on her handing the wine glass to me. Despite her assertions on the quality of the wine, she herself has gone for some kind of masculine looking cocktail in a hi-ball glass, albeit with a straw.
"You're welcome," responds Jess.
She's wearing black leather gloves as usual, and again I take pleasure in seeing one of the seemingly ubiquitous garments stretched tight and shiny around a hand gripping her glass. The other secures the straw through seductively pursed bright red lips.
"You must be feeling the cold here huh?"I ask as we perch ourselves on bar stools, nodding in reference to her never seemingly removing her gloves. Not that I'm complaining of course.
She mulls it over while sucking on the straw, her face a mask of concentration. But before able to explain, is interrupted by an abrupt call from behind her.
"Ellow?.. Patrick?.." - a loud and unexpected announcement, the words taking a moment to register, arriving as they do with a strong London accent.
