turned off at lunchtime otherwise everyone and their Apple Macs take up too much space. There was a grocery shop next door where I got some supplies and enjoyed an artistic vegetable display. I finally got answers to my searching questions from the Director of Public Affairs at the Israeli Consulate who is also a Londoner newly arrived in London, finished my story and sent it off. I was going to get the bus 44 which goes up into the bit of San Francisco around Mount Davidson that is so hilly the grid system can’t cope and roads actually have curves in them but by the time I had walked to the stop I decided that I didn’t have enough time to relax on the bus and make it to my interview appointment with Marc Norton the head of the picket against Hotel Frank. I had also managed to get myself invited out for dinner by the aforementioned Verger of Grace Cathedral. I had emailed him to see if he could verify my speck of sand in an oyster idea for a story about British religious immigrants coming over to the States because the Brits are too religiously apathetic. This was inspired by the family that I had met on the plane. I also happened to mention that I was going to a Laura Marling concert in the Cathedral on Friday night which prompted the invite for dinner. From the get go it had made me feel really uneasy; the only reason I would say yes to the offer of dinner from this random, middle aged man was because he was frocked. And we all know that is not any guarantee of high morals. Anyway I had decided to say yes as I felt stupid for saying no and you never know where there might be a story but it made me feel nervous and anxious all day. I rarely feel anxious so it was an unpleasant feeling. 
Instead of the bus ride I wandered around the area south of Golden Gate Park and discovered a Cheese Boutique which has been run by a Lebanese man for the past 25 years. He guaranteed that his mozzarella was super fresh so I gave him the benefit of the doubt, I am a super fussy mozzarella eater. It was better than the expensive boccaccini I had bought from the local fancy store which literally tasted of nothing but I’m afraid to say that it wasn’t up to my very high standards. Maybe my live long crusade will be a one woman fight against boring mozzarella. When it’s good it’s SO good, no one should have to eat the tasteless stuff, ever. I could probably win a few votes on that manifesto. The only tax would be a cheese tax and everyone would get free cheese for life.
I went downtown to meet the protesters. They are ridiculously loud. There are only ever about 5-10 at any one time but they have whistles, pots and megaphones which they use to their full volume. Apparently one of the customers of the hotel came out when they were doing there 7am-8am slot and tried to punch one of them in the face. I can imagine his anger at being awoken by that racket. Marc is the original cookie monster voiced man, it is almost painful to listen to him speak. He also looks quite like a Muppet character with one huge bushy eyebrow and a moustache to go with it, a pair of thick rimmed glasses and baseball hat top it all off.
I interviewed some of the people on the picket and then walked with Marc back to the Union headquarters to put away all of the placards and megaphones. The short version of the story is that Hotel Frank was a union hotel which meant that it had an agreement with the union about pay, healthcare, holiday, etc but when Wells Fargo bought the hotel in 2010 they broke the agreement. So the workers didn’t go on strike but picket the hotel on their breaks and after work. The hotel cannot fire them for joining union action but obviously it doesn’t make for a nice work environment. They have been picketing since September 2010 and don’t plan to give up until the hotel gives in. Hopefully this story will make it past the censors!
I hiked up to the Cathedral which is perched on top of Nob Hill near all of the swanky hotels like the Fairmont where Mr Obama stays in San Francisco. Charles Shipley III (who I had Googled just in case he was on any sort of register) was waiting for me on the steps in jeans, white shirt, blazer and a very shiny pair of black, crocodile skin cowboy boots. I was a bit disappointed that he wasn’t in his cassock. We went to a nice Italian restaurant where he goes EVERY day and orders the same thing for weeks on end. They know him well and my paranoid mind thought probably seen him there with susceptible young woman on a regular basis. Following the theme of likening people to cartoon characters he looked a bit like a mixture of a grey haired version of the Comic Book Guy from the Simpsons and the Police Chief, That’s not really a compliment for anyone who doesn’t know the Simpsons. But he was very interesting, cracked a few jokes and didn’t try to touch me inappropriately and on top of that he swapped my ticket for a front row seat. He also gave me his copy of the Jubilee edition of Country Life to which he is a subscriber. What more could you ask for?
The stage for the concert was set up at the front of the nave, a drum kit, bass, cello and keyboard with a couple of coloured stage lights either side, dwarfed by the great height of the ceilings. A very atmospheric venue. Laura Marling’s warm up act was Willie Mason who I am now slightly in love with. It was just him and his guitar singing soulful folk songs. I knew one of his songs but live music is great because you really listen to the words properly, and his lyrics have a lot of meaning that had been completely lost on me before. Laura had her English band of four extras with her but did some solo stuff as well. The reverberations of the sound down the nave were amazing, long notes would linger and grow as they made their way up to the roof and the back of the cathedral. She made her band introduce themselves with a fact, my favourite was that for every living person on the planet there are 62 pieces of Lego. I haven’t Googled it just in case it’s not true.
After the concert I got the bus back, despite being offered a lift home by the Verger, all very innocent I’m sure but I thought dinner was enough. Waiting for the bus the usual crazy walked across the road. A black guy, sunglasses on, hood up, pulling a wheelie suitcase. Obviously talking to himself he sat down next to me. ‘No, I ain’t never going back, oh no, I ain’t never going back to prison. I would not wish that on my worst enemy. Death and prison, I would not wish that on my worst enemy. I need to get out of here and get me back to the Castro, there are too many niggers around here. I know I shouldn’t say that but I’m half Puerto Rican and there are too many niggers.” I was feeling very British and uncomfortable, trying to ignore someone who is talking to themselves is really hard especially when there caht is making you laugh. “I gotta get back to New York, no offence to the West Coast but New York is New York. You from the West Coast? Where you from?” This did seem to be directed at me so I said “London”, “Oh Laardaan. Well let me tell you something, I am going to be the Nickie Minaj of the gay porn industry” “Oh, you’re a singer” “I ain’t no singer, I am going to be the Nickie Minaj of the gay porn industry”. At which point my bus sadly arrived.
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