A true phone conversation overheard at work.

‘He’s on his way to the Ritz. Yes, about ten minutes. He’s stuck in a cab at Trafalgar Square. Yah, do go ahead and open the champagne.’

I am pleased (relieved?) to say I wasn’t the only person with raised eyebrows…

Got back from Mallorca on Monday night… seven days of swimming, cakes, free shots after dinner (everywhere we ate in Palma gave us free shots, and sometimes free amuse-bouches, with our meal), and vintage trains. None of the places we stayed in (two nice hostels and a very swanky guest house) had TVs or phones in the room, we didn’t buy any newspapers, we called no one. And yet we still liked each other at the end of the holiday! Only sad note was when our flip-flops fulfilled their suicide pact when left to dry on a windy balcony… both right flip-flops, my Old Navy ones which have served me well for years, and Steve’s green H&M ones, leapt over the edge and we could see them, four stories below, on a roof… We mourned them with shots of Tunel, the local herb liqueur, and some nice Lindt chocolate.

Saturday night is party night. Oh yeah. Never mind that the dresses don’t quite cover our bums… The pictures will be interesting. Or, if you can make it, come along and see Real Live (nearly) Nude Girls!