I am on holiday, Day 2

So far, so good. Yesterday was passed jetlagged and starey, eating Space Dust in Kensington Gardens and a dinner of the Gods at Bocca di Lupo.  (Do not talk to me about what happens when you put radishes with parmesan and truffle oil. It is good. Very good. But also a bit dirty.)

This morning, after a night of excellent non-drug induced sleep in the bed photographed yesterday, my "husband" and I went to have our hairs cut in D'Arblay Street. After that, to M&S, where I purchaysed a navy blue dressing gown in a generous size, and to Muji, where I purchaysed a nylon bag for my overspill. 

"What did you have for breakfast?", I hear you cry, remembering my promise from yesterday and a bit before that. I had this at The Breakfast Club, also in D'Arblay Street:  

Not bad, but the egg was a bit watery.

After that, we got in the hire car (which is not a Vauxhall, and is therefore excellent), and drove off through London: over Vauxhall Bridge, through Camberwell and Peckham and Poo Cross Gate and onto the A2 and M2, where it rained and rained and vicars drove at 2 miles an hour.

"I have never seen the White Cliffs of Dover", said the French-Canadian veterinary research pathologist to whom I am married. "I shall take you there forthwith",  I said, and off we went.

It was quite good. I had a prawn sandwich, and the pathologist, a packet of parsnip crisps. The weather wasn't all that, but the cliffs looked cliffy and English people were sitting in their cars having a little rest:

We went for a walk, me in my unsuitable shoes and the pathologist in his sensible shoes. It was quite good, then it started raining quite hard so we came back, and I went and had a wee.   The White Cliffs of Dover are National Trust, of course, which meant that the words "stop telling us the fucking tap is broken - we know it is" became this:

Then we came to our B&B.  It is so good I am not telling you where it is unless you really want to know, and if you do, you can ask me by sending me an electronic letter. It is 10 minutes outside Canterbury and toppermost.

I shall end this post by showing you the bed I am lying on at this very moment: the bed under the ancient skis; the bed that I will soon get in to for a massive kip.  In the bed,  I will dream about the dinner I have just had with my "husband" in the restaurant (in Canterbury) we had dinner in the first night we met EXACTLY four years ago TODAY. It will be quite a cheesy dream, but a good one - a bit like those dreams in which you are given an old pony who ends up being a top showjumper.

Yours in burp,

NWM