September 9th, 1989

September 9th, 1989

Penta Hotel, Hounslow, Middlesex

David has a huge dimple in the middle of his chin that the tip of my index finger fits into perfectly. While we were kissing this morning (of course I went back to bed after I wrote in my diary) I pressed my finger to it and he cracked up laughing.

“What’s so funny?” I asked

“You’re the first person who’s ever noticed that.”

“I think it’s lovely,” I said, brushing my finger across his mouth.

“I think you’re lovely,” he said, nuzzling his face into my neck again.

“What would you like to do today?” I asked.

“I’d love to go to London again.”

I started laughing.

“Now what’s so funny about that?”

I filled him in on the double meaning of “going to London,” that Pamsy and I came up with.

“So?” he asked with a cheeky grin.

In the most seductive tone I could muster without giggling, I said, “Let’s go to London first.”

“And then what?” he asked.

“And then we’ll go to London,” I said, trying not to laugh.

A few hours later, I was sorting out my stuff on the extra bed.


“What’s up?” he asked.

“I forgot my uniform jacket.”

“Is it in your car?”

“No,” I said. “I brought everything in with me, at least I thought I did. I must have left it at the girls’ flat. I’ll need it for my trip to Bermuda tomorrow.”

“We can go pick it up,” he said in a matter of fact tone.

“Would you mind?”

“No, of course not. Should we get it before or after we go to London?”

I crawled over the bed towards him. “I think you already know the answer to that.”


“This is so unfair,” Meryl said huffily, following me around her bedroom while I located my jacket and a few other things I’d forgotten in my haste to go and meet David.

“What is?”

“This whole thing,” she said, waving her slender arms around. “You need to stop moving about and tell me everything that’s happening with you two.”

Tossing the last of my things into my bag, I said, “There’s no time Meryl. This is our last day together and we’re on our way to London.”

“Ouf,” she exclaimed in a Scottish brogue only few can.

“Sorry,” I said, kissing her on the cheek. “I promise that when I get back from Bermuda I’ll tell you everything.”

In London we headed to Chopard jewelers first, so David could pick up his new watch. According to David, the watch was designed as part of the Mille Miglia series, which is apparently a vintage car race that began in Italy (never heard of it.)

After the yuppie girl behind the counter finally stopped flirting with David (he seemed oblivious) long enough to package up his watch, he turned to me and asked,

“Do you see anything you like?”

Prompted by an unkind glare from Yuppie girl at the other end of the counter, I sidled up to him and breathed, “I absolutely do.”

“What?” he asked.

I whispered in his ear. “You.”


Next stop was Harrods, where we (I!) made a beeline upstairs to the toy department.

“I can’t believe you’ve never been in Harrods before.”

“Guess I was waiting for you to show me around.”

“This is one shop I totally know my way around,” I said, heading for the corner where the teddy bears live.

“You need him,” David said when I picked up the white Steiff bear.

“Yes, I do.”


For the remainder of the day, we meandered our way through the city and ended up sitting on a bench in Hyde Park.

“You know,” he said, looking slightly pensive. “I thought traversing around Delhi with you was amazing, but London, wow, London has been awesome.”

I felt my cheeks flush and didn’t know what to say.

“Do you agree?” he asked, squeezing my knee.

I nodded my head yes.

“There’s just one more place we need to go.”

“Where?” I asked.

“The Hard Rock café.”

“No way, that’s much too touristy,” I said. “We can’t go there.”

“My sister wants a sweatshirt.”

I smiled. “I’ll show you the way.”

Ah, London. There’s nothing like it!


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s