Working abroad for a few weeks is all very well, it makes coming back to London for just one day all the better.
A little cold, possibly.
Anyone arriving from France may expect the worst in terms of food, service and ambience but The Wolseley delivers (as it always does) Ask Carol Voderman or Jamie Lee Curtis or....the others who packed the place out last night. One of the owners was even there collecting coats. Bless.
The food was brill.The ambience buzzing. Top marks, as ever.
And outside, across at Movida, a bloke comes up.
"Thinkin about it are you?"
"What?" I says.
"Goin in" he says.
"Where?" I says.
"There. Lapdancin. Ladies. You know"
I look at Starbucks on the corner of Picaddilly and Dover Street and sure enough there's a new place called "The Mayfair".
"How long's that been there?" I ask.
"Few weeks. Comin in?" he says.
"No" I says. Mildly insulted.
He slinks off.
We head towards Soho and have a couple. I head back along Brewer St and am asked by a bald man what I want.
"What?" I says.
"Girls. Boys. Whatever"
I point out that I have no need for anything in Soho and have, actually, lived and worked here all my life.
He scowls and stares. Then moves on. To the next punter-looking-punter I guess, demoralised.
But we're now in Claridges and you can't get much posher than that. I notice a bloke at the bar. Then I notice bloke at the bar has a rather attractive female partner. She's with him. I think.
She's talking to him. Whispering in his ear. Kissing him.
Then she's looking at me. Then she's walking over to me. Then she's talking to me.
We, erm, chat.
My pals ask who she was.
I say I have no idea. But she wanted to know if I wanted a good time.
Funny how others see you.
I want to go back to France.