Yes, the previous entry was a rather useless summary of three days in the big smoke. This will be something similar. Monday became a big, fruitless search for shoes for M, which was fine but disappointingly lacking in footwear of the right kind. Ah well. We had a rather nifty Dim Sum lunch, courtesy of our pal Jo from the Hong Kong Tourism Board down at a nice place called Imperial China, on Lisle Street. All those little hearts sat nicely on top of all the other rubbish we'd eaten in the previous two days (my birthday treat at Planet Hollywood, the humungous portions and choccie cake to die for in the hotel's own Wok Around The World (absolutely slated recently by Jay Rayner), and other assorted snacks and alcohol). We've convinced ourselves that all the food we scoffed has been balanced out by all the walking we did around and about Landon tahn, as they would have it. We did, for instance, walk across the Thames and back (via a bridge, not some recently acquired messianic-style ability) on a freezing cold Sunday. Like scared wabbits, we clung to each other, our tube and train tix, and our cash (thieves operate in this area, we kept being reminded. Why, in the north you can leave thousands of pounds on your garden wall and it will remain untouched for seconds. I hold the Krays responsible for us having to clip our bag to a table in Starbucks) and the never-used but handy map and looked at gift stalls selling hats and gloves and dreamed of warmer days...
I have it on rather bad authority that, while we were in the land of jellied eels, actor pal Martin Barrass revealed on local radio that I am writing a show for him. Which just shows how a chat over a pint can get out of hand. Is it true? I guess it must be, it was on the BBC. Hurrah!
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