Arrived home yesterday to +1, snow/rain and gusty winds which made me want to go back on the same plan and London. There it was sunny, +12 and on Friday I sat on a park bench drinking coffee and watching the pretty yellow daffodils.
London was as usual fab. I met up with friends, had curry (even though vegetarian), visited Kensington Palace, went shopping in my favourite stores (yes another dress shirt...) walked for hours, watched people, had salt and vinegar crisp, went to the pub and was just very very happy to be back in my favourite city.
My dream of living and working London comes to life after visit even though I after each visit also realize more and more that it is just a silly dream. But what's wrong with dreams when you get to touch them a little every now and then?
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