The Day I Met The Queen
On September 9th 2015 the Queen became Britain’s longest serving monarch – and I like to think she shares this reputation with me, as I am the longest serving employee of EuroTalk, having joined at the very beginning in the days when our only product was an interactive version of “Asterix the Gaul”.
My work here has even led me to her Majesty herself. In 2002 EuroTalk won the Queen’s Award for Enterprise and Innovation for the second time, so we were invited to send a deputation of three to Buckingham Palace to meet her. I was one of the three, along with Dick Howeson (our Chairman) and Peter Shoomakov, now Manager of the Production Department. It was also the very first day of the Congestion Charge in London, so after much discussion and aggravation we finally arrived by hired car, feeling very hot and bothered – not to mention worried about any protocol needing to be followed.
There were about 100 or so others and we were treated to a glass of wine and canapés before the Master of Ceremonies introduced us one by one. We had to form a line and present our invitation card to the MC, who handed it, with an introduction, to Her Majesty. She shook my hand and asked me what line of business EuroTalk is in, before handing it to Prince Philip for a further handshake.
I was impressed by the quality and youthfulness of the Queen’s skin. She looked so young and tiny against Prince Philip, who hadn’t aged quite so well.
When I started my reign at EuroTalk, because I could write shorthand, I was employed as secretary and personal assistant to Dick Howeson, our Chairman – a lovely man to work for. In addition to normal business life, he and I together showed our product at exhibitions, put the discs in jewel cases, added a small booklet at the front and a separate illustrated sheet at the back – an extremely fiddly job, I might add, which ended in very sore thumbs!
Since then I’ve created “bug reports”, done technical support, sold and demonstrated our resources into schools and other educational establishments, demonstrated at exhibitions and am currently running credit control, looking after our roof garden, and anything else required of me. These days I think my official designation is “General Dogsbody”. That’s what Dick tells me!
Gloria
My big fat Greek mistake!
Learning a language can sometimes be fraught with problems when you try to put your new-found skill into action (like ordering the wrong thing in a restaurant), but even if you really are fluent in a language it can still backfire on you.
Some 25 years ago, when I was finally fluent in Modern Greek and often being mistaken for being a true Athenian Greek, I used to travel to all parts of Greece at a moment’s notice with my children, or with friends – no advance bookings, we’d just get the air tickets to Athens and decide which island to go to once we arrived. My knowledge of the Greek language always stood us in good stead and we seldom had problems. It also meant that we were offered much hospitality by the Greeks, who are such welcoming and lovely people to know.
One day, back here in the smoke, a friend took me to a Greek restaurant he’d found in Bayswater, and it was a terrific place. A musician played the bazouki, we danced a lot, the food was wonderful and we spent the whole evening speaking English and Greek alternately. When my friend asked for the bill, the manager came over and asked us whether we were English or Greek, because he’d heard us speaking both languages and he was puzzled as to our nationality. When he discovered we were both English but had learned to speak Greek at home with books and cassettes, but without formal lessons, he was very impressed. So impressed that he offered us anything on the menu as a gift. It was not difficult for me to choose. I absolutely love halva. That was my selection. I hadn’t remembered that the halva you get in a Greek taverna is not the halva that you’d buy in the shops. Instead, it’s made with semolina and it’s the one I don’t like!
Needless to say, when it was served to me I couldn’t find it in me to turn it away, so I ate as much as I was able to. I thanked him profusely and then said I was full up, having already eaten three courses before it, and this was accepted by the manager. No big deal, you might think. However, more than six months later I returned to that Greek restaurant and took with me a male relation who was in London on a visit, thinking it was unlikely that I’d be remembered especially as I was with someone else and there would be no Greek spoken that evening.
Imagine my chagrin when, at the end of the meal and with nothing being said about it, the halva was presented to me once more. I couldn’t believe it. I ate it manfully (or perhaps it should be womanfully) and made up my mind to not go back there any more. It was such a pity because their hospitality was second to none.
What would you have done?
Gloria
