Coffee at Number 10

I was invited to Number Ten this morning for coffee.

I turned up for 10:30 with only two minutes to spare. I went through the x-ray hut, then across the street up to the big door, which was open. I put my mobile in the cabinet, and took a ticket. Then sat on a big old (and rough) chesterfield sofa, just to the side of the main lobby, the one with the black and white tiles. There were some big Ikea-like boxes propped up in the corner, and some workmen wandering around in jeans, coming out of small doors in the wall.

I noticed the chipped woodwork, dirty paintwork – and mum would have been horrified at the dust around the banisters …and a phone cable tacked to the wall, rough corners of the carpet…

I imagined my meeting would be in a small scruffy office. But the PM’s senior press secretary came to collect me, I vaguely recognised him, but couldn’t remember where we had met…

He gave me a quick tour of the State rooms, Margaret’s private office where she held her meetings – a smart small library with a striking, rather too life-like, newly-hung portrait of her at one end. “We got that out as soon as we got in”. He pointed out the six bees carved one in each of the bookcases, to represent Tony and his family members. Apparently everyone leaves a mark in that room. The small dining room, which was very elegant – art deco, with a fireplace under a window, like in the Isle of Wight. An amazing long horizontal turquoise clock on the mantlepiece. The main dining room had modern silver candelabras on the table, and silverware displayed on the sideboards.

We had our meeting in the Terracotta Room, one of two main state sitting rooms, huge with two beautiful Turners either side of the fireplace, a Hogarth of St Paul’s over the fire, and some French and English paintings. We sat on smart settees in the middle of the room with a coffee table in the middle, tea, coffee, no biscuits.

We chatted about my bid to bring the Gay Games to London in 2018, what I had done so far, my experiences of Cologne, what my vision was for London. He asked me what he could do. I requested that Number Ten hold a reception for the medal winners. “What else?” Well, City Hall are dragging their feet a little, I really need to secure a date where I can hold a public meeting in January, for the launch.

We walked down the curving staircase, the yellow walls and black and white portraits of the Prime Ministers. Tony’s photo had just gone up, apparently he had taken ages in choosing which one to hang.
Gordon wasn’t hung yet – and they would have to move them all down and around to get it to fit – there didn’t look like enough room.

I was there an hour and a quarter. When I came out tourists took my photo leaving, I said ‘goodnight’ to the policeman, and scooted back to work.