Well fed in Primrose Hill

Spent another glorious sunny day in London. EVERYone was in Soho Square today (check back for photos one day next week to see what I mean by that) when I walked through. I had lunch with lovely Laurie (anyone need a crack information services consultant in London, let her know) - a sarnie in Soho - followed by a silky caffe latte at the incomparable Bar Italia on Frith Street (check it out at 3 or 4am when some club or other has closed and you want a je ne sais quoi before heading home on the night bus.. and it is an experience beyond words) with a custard tart that looked a great deal better than it tasted after a morning in the display case.

After which I wandered to Foyles, whose bags modestly proclaim it to be The World's Best Bookstore, and bought a couple of books of poetry (Alison Brackenbury's After Beethoven and Lavinia Greenlaw's Minsk). Didn't find what I went in there for, which was an excellent volume called The Ghost Twin by Anne-Marie Fyfe, which Leah had a copy of and which I've been reading with much admiration.

Then on to my third spiritual home of the day - Pamela Stevens Swiss Cottage, where Nicci - another of their seemingly endless stream of superb South African trained beauty therapists - gave me my annual facial to die for. Having sprinted around Waitrose for an hour or so collecting various exotic items - mackerel in brine, Hula Hoops, Spanish olives stuffed with anchovies - I walked back from Chalk Farm , stopping for a drop of cider at the Queen, and admiring the picnickers and sun worshippers dotted on the grass of Primrose Hill. I'm now extremely well fed, after Leah's sublime dinner of pork steaks with mushroom gravy, mashed parsnips, asparagus with red pepper and basil, and melon with blueberries.