It is lovely to be home. Trying to sleep in my hotel in London was like trying to sleep through an episode of NYPD Blues with the volume turned up to max. All I could hear outside were crimes being committed and police giving chase. The St Giles hotel is possibly the most charmless place I have ever been to (and I include our local rubbish tip in that). The location (just off Tottenham Court Road) has nothing to recommend it. But Richard & Judy went well, once I was able to get a word in.
Yesterday we had a lunch party. Among the guests were an opera singer and her opera director husband. We were treated to an aria from Don Giovanni in the garage. This is a woman who sings regularly at the Royal Opera House and La Scala. What she must have thought of our garage I dread to think. But she couldn’t have had a more enthusiastic audience. The girls were totally mad about her and kept nagging her to sing again. The opera singer is also into bird-watching and was thrilled to see our swallows who have now quadrupled in number. I fear we will have to move out soon to make room for their extended family.
Last night Bea went to bed singing unrecognisable arias at the top of her voice. Olivia got up this morning and immediately reached for some binoculars. She has been looking for birds ever since. It’s such a joy to have friends that are a better influence on one’s children than oneself.
Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2007