And it occurred to me that this would be a more feasible way to do
And it occurred to me that this would be a more feasible way to do it than with a stretch limo." So Dr Strauss suggested to Shelley Lennox, a fellow therapist with whom she has shared "stationary" clinic space in White Plains, New York, that they go into business together.They bought a large state-of-the-art van, decorated the inside to resemble a therapist's office, hired a chauffeur, and placed an ad in the Wall Street Journal. Dr Strauss fantasised about these patients, and in her fantasy rode in a stretch limousine to meet them at their workplace. Why a stretch limo? She shakes her head: "It's too close, too intimate." Anyway, she laughs at her dream now As she says, it was hardly "discreet".Vans are discreet "I had noticed that vans had become an epidemic on the road. This is a group, she says, of organisationally challenged "dynamite kegs" - Type A personalities, who are most prone to heart attacks, high blood pressure, migraines and so on, who find that "their work schedules are getting in the way of their enjoyment of life".
It's a success, a hit, a smash, and all because Dr Strauss identified a problem and found a six-cylinder solution."I noticed in my practice that whenever I was lucky enough to contact an executive type for a patient, that individual could not, would not, keep appointments," says Dr Strauss, smoothing back a stray hair. Last April, Dr Strauss, a psychologist of 20 years' standing, began Mobile Psychological Services PC - "Chauffeured Psychotherapy for the Busy Executive". The van rumbles into the Manhattan traffic. This is my introduction to a phenomenon that only the Nineties could have spawned: therapy on wheels. Let's hop in the back." I settle into one of two extremely plush swivel chairs while she instructs Dave, the chauffeur, to "watch the bumps, please". Ursula Strauss smiles again and arranges herself on a sofa opposite. And all this less than 10 yards away from the prosaic commuter train that will take Pam Lawrence, all stations and "ooh-la-la!" dreams, home to Walton-on-Thames..
The grey van glides to a stop. A fiftyish woman with a halo of strawberry-blonde hair steps out of the passenger's side. Dressed in a red knit suit and sheer black stockings, she flashes a smile: "Hello I'm Ursula Strauss. Waterloo International is an inspired building, an adventure in steel and glass, a place that promises, like the wardrobe in the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, to spirit us away to a more glamorous life, one in which the champagne flows and foie gras abounds, and evenings resound to Edith Piaf.Even with the promise of Piaf and Pigalle, no run-of-the-mill railway station could have this effect on us. So, too, do the gawdy "dwell time" shops and the fact that you are not allowed to wander along the platforms (no pimply trainspotting here) until five minutes or so before the train leaves.These are quibbles, good old English grumbles in the "wrong kind of snow" school of sniping against the railways. And - look - how, inside or outside, you can see the elongated trains purring in and out of the terminal. In so many stations of the Sixties, Seventies and Eighties, trains were hidden from public view, as if there was something shameful about them.
Euston, Charing Cross and Birmingham New Street are three offenders that spring to mind.No building is perfect and Waterloo International does have its flaws, although these will be invisible to those who cannot afford to ride the continental trains. Once past the slap-happy Eurostar charm girls and security gates, passengers are faced with a sea of grey wool-nylon mix. Oh for wood, slate or marble floors, but the overriding English obsession with "comfort" and "luxury" that spells c-a-r-p-e-t in every public building reduces the intelligence of this special place (it is also guaranteed to get dirty and covered in black pats of masticated chewing gum). Look at the bright yellow, Meccano-like cog- wheels that raise and lower the lifts from concourse to security gates. And then, of course, there are straightforward references to the great English trainsheds - Barlow's column-free iron and glass roof at St Pancras protecting the Midland Compounds of yesterday and the InterCity HSTs of today in an embrace of structural ingenuity.What else? Waterloo International appears to run like clockwork, which appeals to the child in us playing with a train-set.Look at those big analogue clocks counting down the minutes to departure; no digital nonsense here. Here you will find a nod to Paxton's Crystal Palace and a wink to the Palm House at Kew Gardens. There is a touch of the dinosaur galleries of the University Musem, Oxford, and the Natural History Museum in South Kensington.