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This is the last piece in the series Summer of Englishness. I started the series with my recollections, and so I'll end the series with a description of one of my first days of living in London.

You know, I've got a friend. A very decent person. Extremely nice character. He is actually His Royal Highness Prince Charles.

I met him once. And I've got a photo of our meeting to prove it.

I was told I would meet the Prince the evening before.

I was a newcomer to the UK and at that time I didn't know the words "that's very short notice", otherwise I would have declined the meeting.

The shops were already closed and I didn't have an appropriate suit to wear, so I decided that first thing in the morning I would go to out onto The Strand, round the corner from Bush House to buy something to wear.

So this was my plan: quick breakfast near the train station, quick travel, quick popping in to the bank, quick hair cut and finally buying a suitable suit.

I hadn't slept that night. Juggling the running order of what I had to do in my mind in different variations kept me awake.

Somehow I got myself ready in the the morning and rushed to the station.

"You know, I'm meeting Prince Charles today" I said proudly to the Malaysian breakfast bar owner.

"Who that?" asked he, wrapping up my Danish pastry and offering a cup of coffee.

I silently and arrogantly passed him a twenty pound note and - in a rage - grabbed the extra-hot cup and completely forgot to take my change.

I remembered about it at the station, while queuing for a travelcard at the ticket office.

"You know, I'm meeting today Prince Charles, so I must to be in the city centre as soon as possible!" urged I, realising that I didn't have any money with me...

"Who that?" asked the ticket-man and senselessly added: "Three sixty..."

I was searching all my pockets for a penny. Everything else was there: a comb, three chewing gums and - I'm sorry to say - an odd 'Durex' condom, but not a penny.

The queue started to become impatient. I was embarrassed.

Luckily my friend the train station newsagent - a very decent person and extremely nice character - noticed me and called me over. I told him "I'm meeting Prince Charles today and left my change with the Malaysian take-away man".

He asked how much I needed and I asked for another twenty pounds, but he gave me the money in coins - this small change had come from all for The Suns and Daily Mails that people had bought from him. With my pockets full of coins I took my place in the ticket-office queue once again.

Just as I got to the front of the queue, they announced my train.

I dropped a handful of copper coins - and both the queue and the ticket man damned me aloud.

He refused to count out the money and I did it myself, whispering the count in my native and obscure language.

Finally I made it and ran away from the embarrassment towards the moving train.

My pockets felt no less empty and they moved of their their own accord, like some sort of overlarge breasts.

Sweating and swearing I crashed into the closing doors and tore my sleeve.

The train driver was ruthless, he didn't stop the train and took a part of my shirtsleeve into the city centre without me. I was left sweating and swearing at the empty station.

When I finally got to the city centre I made it to my bank swiftly, but because I was rushing to the suit shop, I forgot to get rid of the rest of the change at the bank.

At least at this point I had two hundred pounds to buy a new suit. Plus the change, of course.

I came to a 'Someone & sons' suit shop and said to the elderly and nice shop-keeper:

"I'm meeting Prince Charles today and I need a suit, suitable for the occasion!"

To my amazement he seemed to be aware who Prince Charles was, since he replied: "I've got a wonderful suit for just such a rare occasion! A noble gentleman like you is worthy of the highest treat".

As if contrary to these grand words he took me down to the basement, as though to the most precious of his treasures and pulled out of a dusty box a typical English suit, which reminded me of the silent films of Charlie Chaplin.

"That is the one!" one of his sons solemnly said and urged me to try it on.

"Undo your sleeves." he suggested, but I said to him that I would leave them as they were as I had a skin rash.

I saw a clear note of disgust on his face, which he immediately replaced with an unnatural smile and helped me with the suit.

Either because of my bulky sleeves, or because the suit was a bit tight on me, I looked like a waiter in a restaurant - ready for swift and neat actions attention.

"Wonderful!" - said the shop-keeper. "As if it was inherited from your father!" he added (a remark which I'm not sure what he meant).

"Now please try on the trousers!" Then I was hesitant: because my socks were usually different sizes and differnt colours.

I waited for him to turn away, but he carried on staring at me and nodded.

In one deft move, I took off my socks together with my trousers, but because the pockets of the trousers were full of copper coins and I was struggling with everything, my socks bounced into view in all their differently-sized and coloured glory.

He tried not to notice.

"A wonderful suit for a wonderful occasion! Congratulations!"

"Do you think it's a good suit to meet Prince Charles in?"

"Not just him, but even his father and grandfather!" - said the shopkeeping offspring to his shop keeping father.

I didn't pay much attention to his words because I was already thinking about the price. "How much does it cost?" asked I cautiously.

"Two hundred and fifty pounds" he automatically replied and noticing some confusion on my face immediately added:

"But for a gentleman like you - two hundred and forty pounds only!"

"I have two hundred... and ten... fifteen... pounds" - I remembered my change, hanging in my pockets.

"Give me a minute!" he said taking his calculator started to begin counting something.
In a while he said: "Two hundred and twenty - that is least I can go, all my other suits cost not less than three, four hundred pounds..."

There was no way to retreat, the suit was on me and the meeting with Prince Charles was in two hours, so I said: "All right".

We came to the ground floor, while the shopkeeper was praising my taste and I counted my 200 notes.

Then I put my hands into my old pockets.

When he saw my hands full of coins, he said: "I don't look like a beggar under Waterloo Bridge, do I? And funny enough, you don't like a beggar either..."

I tried to explain, but he said: "Look, why don't we agree a gentlemen's deal: I take your 200 pounds now and you bring me another 30 quid after you've met your friend? Done?"

The "bargain" offer of two hundred and twenty pound had evaporated "Done!" I had lost another tenner, for the sake of my loyalty to royalty.

As a pay off he gave me a plastic bag to put my old trousers in, still full of change.

I had one final deed to do before the meeting - a trip to the hair-dresser.

I told the Italian barber I was meeting Prince Charles I announced once again, that I would be meeting His Royal Highness Prince Charles, to which the witty man replied: "Of which country?"

I decided to change the conversation and switched to talking about football: Scuadra Asdzurra and Girro d'Italia.

The conversation touched a nerve and he became so overexcited that he began to cut my hair with a passion. If I had given him another five minutes, I would have left without eyebrows or eyelashes, let alone my moustaches and beard.

Wisely I asked him to leave it there, which seemed to make him furious and so he even didn't brush my hair from my shoulders.

Neither would he take two handfuls of my coins, saying that he hadn't balances to weigh them and I stupidly put them - not into the pocket of old trousers, which I left at barber's - into my new gentleman's pockets.

How stupid it was I realised, when I entered the building, where I was to meet finally His Royal Highness Prince Charles of Wales.

I went through the security check, and then in front of all my curious colleagues I had to empty all this scrap metal along with keys, three chewing gums and the odd condom...

What shame!

I've got a historic picture, where I'm standing in front of His Royal Highness, who is a very decent person and extremely nice character.

He is curiously asking me a question. I thing he said was: "How do you do?"

And I remember I replied: "Thank you Your Royal Highness, absolutely marvellous..." and then he moved to another person, and I thought for a moment how he must get bored meeting so many people like me, who has nothing interesting to tell him, or to entertain...