Almost twenty years ago, I made my first trip to London. My hotel was in Russell Square, and desperate to stay upright and not give in to jet lag, I walked myself over to the British Museum. Then I promptly got lost inside.
I had gone with the intent of seeing the Egyptian artifacts, which I did. But one room led to another and another—the Museum is very different now than it was then—and I couldn’t find my way out!
Then a gentleman—I want to say he was older, but at that time in my life, everyone was older—noticed my distress and asked if I needed help.
And—I kid you not—he was wearing a Derby. (Or, if you prefer, a bowler.)
I remember thinking: They really do exist!
Seriously, it was like seeing a unicorn. This British gentleman in his hat and suit. Or maybe that’s how guardian angels dress in London.
I laughed and blushed and said that I was lost, and this man put his hand on the small of my back (it seems forward now but felt reassuring at the time) and guided me to the exit.
Of course then I had to walk around and try to remember which direction my hotel was but, to paraphrase Dr. Grant, at least I was out of the museum. I spent some time in Russell Square . . . bought a soda from a stand there, as I recall . . . And eventually found my way back to my hotel and collapsed.
Not sure what made me think of that today.