I love London. It does not have the elegance of Paris or the buzz of New York, but only in London are you overtaken by four horse- and carriages, accompanied by riders, and it turns out being a school on their way to - I think- polo practise. All the kids have riding outfits, that there is a professional name for, I am sure, and look so English you have to hold yourself back in order NOT to turn into a paparazzi..
Passing a real estate agent, I noted that the flats don't have living rooms, but reception rooms.
I remember reading in a book (84 Charing Cross, by Helène Hanff) that if you go to London in search of the literature, you will find it. Since I much rather shop for books than for anything really, my big problem was the airline limitations. (and, of course, the limitation of getting to the place that currently is my home- it is so isolated from anywhere that it might as well be Sibiria) (my impression is however, that through the history of times, it has been very easy to be sent to Siberia, so this would be the key difference..)
Anyway, after coming home (which again, very very difficult and involved crawling, begging and buying a bottle of champagne to get a lift) I am all of twelve books richer and, am just embarking on placing a post order for more of the above. And, like a child at Christmas, this little pile was arranged so that it would be the first thing I saw when I woke up. (needless to say, getting up and going to the bathroom in the middle of the night dis-arranged the pile and nearly killed my toe - another advantage of paperbacks..)
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