It didn't cripple me.
The quick dose of prescription Motrin helped but, by the end of the day, I was hobbling.
My boss (back from a month abroad) has always had a bad back and gave me instructions and sent me packing early.
Unfortunately, this happened before I could leave, so I grabbed a pal and hit a bar.
It was nice because she and I had been trying to have some time together before I left town.
(And because the person was not badly injured.)
I've never flown to Europe or the UK during the day and now I think I can see one of the reasons why business people don't. Although I believe my sleep schedule might be better off, I was completely surrounded by young families with small children. Babies. I don't mind crying babies on planes because I wear my headphones nearly all the time but there was one who was about four months old who cried and cried. I wished I could have walked him. You know how, sometimes, you have a feeling if you walked the baby up and down the aisle, soothing and patting, that it must certainly help if only by giving the parents a break? I felt like that.
Alas, I was kind of crippled.
I took pills.
I watched Cake.
I ate frittata.
Frittata and many carbs: a roll, crackers, potatoes, a muffin I didn't eat. Then there was a snack of two different kinds of crackers with some scary-looking roasted pepper paste. Anyone who ordered wine got two of those little bottles, which was swell.
It was pretty bumpy for a while and then we were in London.
Thank goodness for that luggage we bought last year. Wheels.
I took a heinously expensive cab (wonderfully nice driver) to the hotel, checked in, unloaded, and ran around the corner to get snacks.
I had baguette and brie room-service dinner, hung up my things (how can my suitcase have been so heavy and I have so few outfits?) and it looks like I did not forget anything major. Looks like, I say because I always forget something like all of my underwear or socks or some important thing but it seems I have not.
Today I need to go to Boots and buy pain patches for my back. For some reason, the amazing patches I have for my wrist don't do it like the regular ones from the store.
And THEN I am going to find Selfridges.
It's a tube and a walk and another tube away. Or a taxi (too $$$$) or a bus. The bus looks easiest.
Did I tell you we watched Mr. Selfridge?
It was awful but we stuck with it.
Awful. Jeremy Piven, who I used to like quite a bit, is just stiff and wooden and terrible.
Anyway, everything in the show that takes place in the store happens in Accessories. And you know how I love accessories. So.
Tomorrow I have dinner with Alice and her Eleanor. And work.
But first it's one of those great Euro-hotel breakfast bars.
It's too early though.
Maybe a nap.