Honestly, it's only because Stewart has such wonderful taste in good quality wines that I'm not completely shattered right now.
I actually feel quite good for someone who got three hours of sleep, did a transatlantic flight, spent an hour and a half in traffic, schlepped eight thousand pounds worth of luggage and duty free, neglected to eat until 8pm when we nipped 'round the corner for plate of amatriciana and saltinboco, and shared four bottles of red in five hours with two friends. Stewart, gorgeous thing that he is, always knows how to make a girl feel welcome.
Yesterday was my eighth first day in London. You didn't know I was going, did you? Yeah, I thought I'd save you the usual too much luggage-too many shoes song and dance this time around. (Two cases, one carry-on, four purses and five pairs including the ones I wore on the plane. That's a record for smallest number packed, I'll have you know.) (As per usual, I forgot to pack my umbrella. Shouldn't be a problem. It never rains in London.)
And now it's 8:30 in the morning and I've got day two ahead of me. Work and meetings and a reunion with yet another old friend, all in the city that doesn't feel like something I've had to use as a means of escape anymore, but rather something to which I've gone toward joyfully. London is my oyster again.
Well, it will be, once I try on those Vivienne Westwood’s I saw in the window on my way in. What was I thinking, bringing only five pairs? Did I think I was packing for some kind of wilderness retreat? Honestly!
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