When our son was two years old, our family went to London for a week just after Christmas around the year 2004. We flew across the “pond” on Virgin Atlantic from SFO and rented a small apartment in the Kensington neighborhood. Our son slept quietly in the bulkhead (and being just two years old, we paid next to nothing for his fare).
Being a food fan, we did some shopping at Harrod’s famed Food Hall, not far from our rented flat. Even in the dead of winter, you can find fresh fruit (from Africa, for example), beautiful oysters and Dover sole. (They filet it for you on the spot). It’s not cheap, but we are a small family. And the presentation is mind boggling.
One afternoon we were in the Food Hall, and I spotted Mohamed Al-Fayed walking through the store, greeting visitors. Al-Fayed owned Harrod’s (much to the Royal’s chagrin). His son was with Princess Diana when both died in a car crash in Paris in 1997.
Anyway, I was excited to see the owner of Harrods — a regular — while holding our son in my arms next to the fish monger. Overly excited, I suppose, I shouted across the way to my wife: “Shannon, it’s Al-Fayed, Al-Fayed.”
Immediately, a half dozen bodyguards came out of the woodwork and stood guard around him (and near me and our son).
I did not have a chance to greet him, but he shook many people’s hands and thanked them for coming to the store.
The experience still cracks me up. This weekend we will watch the Olympics quietly on the “tele.”
Jeff Pelline's Sierra Foothills Report 