
One nice thing about an impromptu trip is that little can go wrong with one’s plans, since there isn’t enough time to make any of complexity. As I flew to London to finish a book and enjoy a few days of walking the city, I was content in the knowledge that I had secured a ticket to a Shakespeare play at the Globe Theatre. Beyond that, if I happened to see Abbey Road Studios, or view the Magna Carta or a Shakespeare first folio at the British Library, those would be nice add to the itinerary. Mostly though, the book needed to get completed.
Any traveler learns that the best memories are the unplanned ones, because they can’t be planned. They’re gifted. They occur when one moves about with eyes open and a willingness to deviate from the plan.
And so there I was wandering up Charing Cross road on my way to hear Jazz at a small Soho club when I saw a string of used book stores. Deciding I could be a little late to the show, I started browsing the books in search of first editions I might need.
Coming out of the last shop I turned right, and Jimmy Page was on the sidewalk sauntering my direction from 50 fifty feet away. How many thoughts can be launched from one mind in the space of time it takes two men to cover 50 feet walking toward each other? I don’t know, but I set a personal best. My first notion was that he was wearing the same all black outfit, including scarf, that he dons in all his recent pictures.
Then, scrambled thoughts! ‘Don’t bother him!’ ‘Maybe he’d love to be recognized – it’s not 1975 anymore.’ ‘I want to tell him he did a marvelous job with the new Coda companion disc!’ And so on.
We locked eyes. I smiled. Jimmy returned the smile and puffed his lips like he does on a downstroke power chord. He continued on, and I turned and watched him continue on for another block.
It was enough.
And the show at the jazz club was great.














