We have been in London since Thursday, and it has been a great time. As usual we drove into the city, but to save some cash we put the car in the car park of my Scottish cousin’s house. Then we took the underground into the belly of the beast. And we have been in that belly since Thursday evening after surviving the London rush hour.

We stayed in a nice Bed and Breakfast in Earl’s Court which apparently has a lot of Australians, but we didn’t see any. The owner is a little old lady with four cats and two rooms, and the cats insist on trying to come into our room. Ours is the only one occupied by curious strangers that must be investigated by these animals. The woman is a curious mix of prim and proper and broad Cockney. It’s like being housed by a Maggie Thatcher who speaks like a 19th century Chimney-sweep.

Our itinerary has been mixed with either just wandering aimlessly through the streets until our feet ached, or being laser focused on some List that Mark has constructed. On Friday I convinced the man of my life to go clubbing with me, and he survived for about four hours until I had to take pity on him and take him out into the cold air and cold streets so that we could walk home past the Millennium dome. As per habit, we had time for a quick snog there, and then it was back home. I hope we never become too complacant for these little moments; that we still do them in ten years time. That the thirty-year old me will still steal a snog off Mark at 4 am on an empty street.

I am writing this at three thirty am because we came home only an hour or two ago, and I’m still buzzing with excitement. We went to see a play, and I am replaying the whole thing in my head – including the songs. I really could get used to this life, and one day I think I’d like to live in a big city like London. I could never, probably, afford London but maybe Berlin or Stockholm or Barcelona.

Tomorrow normal life can resume, with batteries which have been recharged until sparks fly from them. Now I just have to climb down from this experience high and put my head on my pillow and sleep. Mark has nodded off long ago, and is snoring a little – well, not like a sawmill but still – in the bed. But I like sitting here by the window and looking down at the deserted streets. I can almost pretend that this moment could go on forever. That this little scene with Mark sleeping in the bed, me sitting here on the sill with the pad, looking out across this vast, vast city.

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