Bon Bon Bonne

I had an ugly walk in this morning. Every turn ended up in a small street with no sun.
Then I took a bus that didn’t go anywhere so I got out at Vauxhall bus station and took another l’autoboose to Waterloo.
The show was funny. We talked about snoring until I nearly choked on mirth. The end of the show had me spinning.
I walked into Soho, the hot sun beating down on my arms. Bought four exquisite cakes from Youatcha, a ridiculously trendy Japanese restaurant in Berwick Street, and three bangles from Argylle Street, for my little Bon Bon whose birthday I went to celebrate this evening then thinking I was clever, jumped on a bus to Victoria. I took my first 73, on Oxford Street. Bendy, sweltering, packed, noisy, stuffy, packed, disgusting, claustrophobic, I was convinced the driver was from Al Qaeda whose mission it was to kill as many Britishers as possible. I leaped off at Park Lane and jumped into a taxi. The driver was a smoker so it was out of the frying pan into the fire but after opening the windows I was able to breathe in the London air which, though muggy, was clearer than the clouds of carbon dioxide I was imbibing on the bendy bus.
Got to the flat in time to change out of my work clothes into one black and red sarong, a pair of flip flops, a spray of Miller Harris scent and I was off to Hackney..
Collected BB and we wended our way to Camden Lock. Bon Bon’s friends were dancers painters, actors, writers, black, white, mixed race, delicious, young and so talkative I could relax in their urban chit-chat. Got lost taking B home, but that was to be expected today was a bad travel day. I drove through Shoreditch, over Southwark Bridge, down the Embankment and back over Battersea Bridge, a duck and a dive and I was back at the flat.
After a big glass of water and me blog it’s now time for bed.
I am exhausted.
being taken seriously by younguns on a rooftop pub in Camden does wonders for the OLD ego….