Blowhards in the smoke

Up early and off to London. I was late but I managed to bundle into the meeting I am supposed to attend all week. Room full of corporate blowhards from the US who barely spoke to me when they realised I was only a writer. I was trying to sift some nuggets and, glanced wistfully out of the window at the sunlight falling on London planes.

After a long day's work off to see Mum and Mas. Unable to force myself down into the purgatorial crowds of the northern line, instead I made my way to Baker Street and was picked up by mum in her little red car at Stanmore.

Spent a pleasant evening up in Edgware with Mum and Mas eating roast chicken and steamed vegetables, and drinking wine. Mas had experienced a trying day, with banker problems. Felix the cat limping about and because he does not have many teeth, had a strange expression, which they say is like Clint Eastwood, but I think it's a bit or an Elvis lip. I had to make off to bed pretty early, however, as it had been a tiring day. I will however return on Thursday night too, to use their house like a hotel yet again.

Spoke to Lorraine in bed, before falling heavily asleep.