I woke up on Sunday morning after 4 hours sleep and remembered that I had a breakfast appointment at Claridges. Dress code ‘smart casual’ so help me god. My first thought was to quickly type out a text to the woman I was meeting ‘have to cancel, terribly ill, perhaps next week?’ but I couldn’t she’s my best friend and the subtext of the message would read so clearly ‘ I’m exhausted, can’t face it , fuck you, leave me alone, I’m staying in bed’. I really wished we were going to Starbucks like we usually do, at least they don't have a bloody dress code and I can look a fright in peace. I had to pack myself into dress and high heels before nine am, untangle my curly hair a bit so it looked er, bohemian which has always been a euphemism for ‘frankly, I can not be bothered’. My personal style has always been less Carrie Bradshaw and more Carrie the movie. I got there resentfully in the end and I do love walking up Bond Street on a Sunday morning when no one else is around. At Claridges I always order the same thing but I like to read the menu and pretend I might have something different, some of the prices make me laugh though, one item, porridge made with water £8 ! Its seems like a typo to me, such a random price and that they point out that they make the porridge with water (corporation pop as they used to call it in Lancashire )and not milk makes it even more emperors new clothes. Part of the fun of going to posh places is laughing at the absurdity of it all. As we entered the art deco ladies room my friend commented that she liked the flower arrangement ‘should have brought a bigger bag’ we laughed in unison.
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