I went to London today, and didn't know what to do, as usual.
I had lunch with my lovely friends Once-Was-Catholic-Priest and Once-Was-Catholic-Nun at Mishkin's and had a salt beef sandwich on rye with pickles and a negroni. And a vanilla malt. And a coffee.
That was good.
Covent Garden was all language students and half-term day-tripping families and the wind was a little too brisk to make aimless wandering about joyful. We went into St Paul's church, which was all Inigo Jones perked up with a little late eighteenth-century this-and-that. I admired the gilding on the plasterwork and felt weird and godless, as per usual.
But then what? I can't even believe it. Only Xtin could stand on Leicester Square and think, what next?
I got on the train and came home with a tin of caramelised macadamia nuts I bought at the station M&S. Xtin, world adventurer extraordinaire.
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