With PP clasped to my heaving bosom we gaily tripped into the station to buy an old dears' travel card (gone are the days, never to be forgotten, when on one memorable occasion the guy in the ticket office of York station asked me if I had a student railcard!)
I could see the headlines in the York Evening Press
"Man attacked by middle-aged traveller"
'Saved from the onslaught of wet whiskery kisses by the toughened ticket office glass, he was lucky to get away unscathed.'
I don't mind admitting I was three-timing Hubs cos I quietly slipped Alan Bennett into my bag, to keep me amused on the journey.
Now PP's a very dashing date however, he is lacking on the conversation front. I draw enough funny looks when abroad without me drawing more, by my talking to my left t*t. And although he looks good, he is a little dim, well any feller would be compared to my all time fav the one and only AB!
My mission was to be a cake and bunting judge at a very prestigious University in London.
Never one to pass up on a legitimate excuse for a jolly, we were off like a rat up a drain-pipe.
Peter here is happy to demonstrate the speed at which we travelled.
My toes are joyous to show the ravages of our traipsing, trolling and trawling through the West End.
We allowed four hours to shop 'til we dropped, factoring in two glasses of bubbles and a delicious cous cous luncheon in my favourite store John Lewis.
We dodged the one heavy shower, walked through Soho to the Cloth Shop a wonderous emporium if there ever was one - Go, I beg you it is well worth the effort! I bought the sweetest tiniest shell buttons.
From there Libertys, then the length of Oxford Street, the wonderful shop whose name escapes me, in a road opposite John Lewis. Fabric'n'stuff, fashion student shoppers. Just breathing the atmosphere there makes me come over all creative.
In and out of the shops we wend our way back up Oxford Street to Tottenham Court Road.
Arriving nearly on time, foot sore but happy, ready to polish off acres of cake.
My fellow judge was a trendy vicar in the parish of Del Boy. He took it very seriously, me I just wanted to fill my, by now sore boots with cake!
We deliberated, digested and decided that the level of entries was extremely high.
But wait...
In these hallowed portals, where excellence is the utmost attribute, there was one entrant who shouted...
IMPOSTER!
One Betty Crocker.
One taste was enough to alert me to her credentials. The trendy vicar fell back in horror..
The bunting was a bit of a non-starter as there was only two entries.
Didn't we have a lovely time the day we went to London.
I waved goodbye to WSD and floated home on happy, but sore tootsies.
*
We dodged the one heavy shower, walked through Soho to the Cloth Shop a wonderous emporium if there ever was one - Go, I beg you it is well worth the effort! I bought the sweetest tiniest shell buttons.
From there Libertys, then the length of Oxford Street, the wonderful shop whose name escapes me, in a road opposite John Lewis. Fabric'n'stuff, fashion student shoppers. Just breathing the atmosphere there makes me come over all creative.
In and out of the shops we wend our way back up Oxford Street to Tottenham Court Road.
Arriving nearly on time, foot sore but happy, ready to polish off acres of cake.
My fellow judge was a trendy vicar in the parish of Del Boy. He took it very seriously, me I just wanted to fill my, by now sore boots with cake!
We deliberated, digested and decided that the level of entries was extremely high.
But wait...
In these hallowed portals, where excellence is the utmost attribute, there was one entrant who shouted...
IMPOSTER!
One Betty Crocker.
One taste was enough to alert me to her credentials. The trendy vicar fell back in horror..
The bunting was a bit of a non-starter as there was only two entries.
Didn't we have a lovely time the day we went to London.
I waved goodbye to WSD and floated home on happy, but sore tootsies.
*
Didn't you have a good trip (toes apart) up to London. What did the imposter say when they were outed? How cheeky!
ReplyDeleteLisa x
Ouch, your poor toes! You certainly packed a lot into your day - poor old PP must have been exhausted.
ReplyDeleteThe imposter wasn't the vicar's wife, was it?!
x
ps I'll email you soon with potential dates for our Tracey Emin adventure. I hope your toes have recovered by then or they might end up as an exhibit!