Miniskirts, Mid-life and Magic

So we land (my mate V. is along with me) take the DLR to Bank, manage to understand and buy an Oyster card from someone who does not speak English, then cab to the hotel.  Are we good girls and have an early dinner and then go straight to bed?  Does the Queen not fart?  We have a late dinner in Bertorelli’s - left after the Nag’s Head in Covent Garden. Adam (another writing friend) joins us for water and decafs and then I retire to Hotel Bar with Adam.  I get to room around 12.30 ecstatic that the plane made it all the way here.  I then fiddle for an hour with the alarm on the hotel TV (Mr. Jules usually does all this electrical stuff), unpack, figure out how to desend the blind on the window and then lie in bed for at least two hours willing sleep to come before I figure out I can’t get to sleep with a neon light shining in the room. I stuff the gap between the blind and the window with a pillow and finally fall asleep.  Awake at 6am (7 Swiss time) after four hours sleep.  This is my worst nightmare I have one of the most important days of my writing career, pitching my brand, ahead of me and I am a) a little hungover and b) sleep deprived. 

Go to breakfast where I pay £16.50 for a bowl of fruit ‘n fibre.  The day unfolds and I feel inadequately prepared, the cogs in my brain are not moving forward, all the other big leapers have fresh, rested faces and wonderful ideas.  I resort to drinking real coffee to wake myself up.  Lunch time comes and I am no further forward, the epiphany has not occurred for me.

Then a nugget falls into my lap and perhaps this is the way.  That’s how life is.  You go one way convinced that is your path and then like the branches of a tree you find yourself being led in another direction.  It’s a strange old journey life.

So it looks like I will be writing more about miniskirts, mid-life and magic.  Sounds good to me and pretty much a cop out considering how my brain is wired.  Any thoughts?

Dinner in Shepherd’s Market with old friends who laugh at me. 

Knackered but happy in London.

Copywrite Jules Ritter May 2008