I wake up in
Claridges.
Dana and I have a suite, and I swim into consciousness slowly because despite the fact the 'rents left yesterday I am still wearing my earplugs - something I will admit to D at breakfast and she will tease me about.
I'm so glad I lost all that weight. Still, fruit salad for breakfast. Dana's having a mad selection - she said she'd complain if they didn't provide brown sauce, but I know she appreciates being in the lap of luxury, and the staff are pretty much just staff - they'll do what they can and wink when you tip them.
Breakfast on the terrace. I'm freshly washed and scrubbed, assume Dana is too but at least but she's making me laugh and looks decent! If I was still obese this robe would be obscene, but then I know I was too, so it's good news all round. We're shopping today and I tell her I'll get some Chanel pyjamas for me, and she can have some too if she likes. She looks at me like a crazy woman, "What do you think Pilau would make of those?!"
We set off late morning. This is about the time I used to get up when I was feeling depressed. Now it's the time I am up and washed and made up and dressed and turning heads and finally learning how to walk for hours in heels. Late morning or not, the streets are shining - we have to dodge numerous street sweepers, but we smile at everyone and everyone smiles at us because it's a dry day with a blue sky and in London that's always worth a smile.
I talk Dana into a Pie n Mash lunch. She's never been into a tiled establishment like this. We don't get linen napkins and wine waiters, just linoleum, benches and booths and a cup of builder's tea. I kinda get that she doesn't get the food, but the banter of the counter staff, the other people and the atmosphere are totally up her street. We're both at home and yet in another world. Roots. Weird, eh? She politely leaves at least 1/3 of her meal and I douse it in vinegar and scoff it too. Damn the diet for one day - I'll go running tomorrow.
We spend the afternoon in the
Borough Market. It keeps our noses so full of smells there's not a chance our bellies could feel empty. I love talking to the stallholders who have a passion for food and produce. Dana gets in conversation with people from Yorkshire and asks about animal welfare and farm to food issues, I just flirt. Well, she flirts too - there's a Harrogate farmer very taken with her, I can tell.
Back to the hotel for tea. Not a cream tea, despite my intentions. What with double helpings at lunch and samples at the Market I'm willing just to have a cup of char. Dana can take it or leave it of course - whippet thin as she is.
Afternoon kip. Well, after something sneaky on the balcony. I go out like a light but can hear the TV from her room. Good, I think - let her stay awake while I sleep, I might even be able to match her in the evening. Yeah, right. The woman is a machine! I'll be drooping on her shoulder by midnight.
No dinner. I feel I should skip it before completely destroying my diet (and I have the cute black dress I bought today which I don't want to strain at the seams) and she can operate on zero food anyway. But we head out in time for the John Barrowman concert at the Albert Hall. We're in a VIP box, which means we could arrive a lot later but hell, who would want to miss the atmosphere? Wasabi peanuts and vodka fill the void.
JB is fantastic, fantastic, fantastic, but the best part is meeting up with him backstage (thanks to a craftily large donation to The Dogs' League - well, not so crafty as Dana supports them too, but I feel like a cat traitor). He is so down to earth while still being fabulous. He seems happy to undress while he and Dana talk about really obscure Dr Who fan-facts. I'm half tempted to butt in and mention some of the Torchwood slash I've read, but realise in time that would be terribly tacky. Get a nice glimpse of his arse though. Dani & I catch eachother's eyes and mostly succeed in not snorting like schoolgirls. Mostly.
Turns out he is going to meet up with Mark Gatiss tonight, and given Dana's level of Who-geek, he wants to take us along (Gatiss being another Whovian). Bloody hell! When we meet Mark I'm afraid I divert the conversation from classic TV to general novels. The great thing is we all have overlapping taste and can discuss anyone from Diana Wynne Jones and Margaret Mahy to Camus and Chaucer. I do drink more than I intended, but not in a way that I show myself up. We just all get a bit silly-giggly and the boys say they haven't laughed as much in a while. Mark's impression of Eve Myles is something to behold.
When we get the taxi back to the hotel I just can't believe what a perfect day it's been. Tomorrow I will go out for a run and call my parents to check they're okay (in Spain). I give Dana a hug before going into my room - she's the perfect companion for a perfect day.