Spot the Spanish cat.
Last day at the orifice. As we were getting into the taxi for lunch, I recognised the driver, who was Dan, the husband of one of my son's childhood friends, and therefore son-in-law of my friend Tim. I hadn't seen him for many years, and my colleagues Romy and Lisa sat confused in the taxi while Dan and I discussed my son, his wife, Dan's wife and children, etc. etc. Dan pressed his phone number on me before we parted and was very keen to be in touch. After that excitement, we had lunch at The Garrison, and the food was OK but not madly delicious. The interior decoration more fun than the food, and Bermondsey Street is almost trendy these days, well the nearest we get to it around here, speaking as an original West Londoner and girl-about-Chelsea.
Taxied back to work and spent the afternoon doing the Christmas party invitations which took absolute ages, and I felt rather drunk and crabby after lunch. All my aches and pains seemed to surface at once. Perhaps booze does this - I thought it was meant to dull pain though.
Romy gave me a wonderful calender thingy. This year someone had given her a similar one with shoes illustrating every day: the one she gave me had bags on it, so I shall look forward to next year.
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