My granddaughter, Gemma, turned twenty-three last week.
She’s the new art director at an advertising firm. I think that’s right. She was twenty-one when she graduated with a First. A First. I only just scraped my English O-Level. Her parents would have been so proud of her. Mary, my wife, would have as well. It’s just Gemma and me now. It has been for a while. And then the idea of London came up, and she couldn’t resist moving there. The place that has it all. That’s what she told me. She didn’t want to leave me in Bath on my own. But how could I let her turn down such a fantastic opportunity? Well, I couldn’t.
Today, I am visiting her for the first time. I got the wrong tube twice. After asking a few young ladies and one busy man, I have managed to find my way to Oxford Street. Now, I have to find Gemma. She said she would meet me at the top of the stairs, outside the tube station. She forgot to mention just how many people there are in this ‘street’.
Where is that girl?