So it’s our last night in London and I was a whiny bitch last night for which I apologise to the Marchioness, who was concerned, and to myself. I allowed the crappy thoughts to dominate and get the better of me…blah blah therapist jargon.
I was anxious about today as the Marchioness has travelled for work and she has always been a safety net for me as she really is as I imagine a big sister to be. Luckily, her daughter, who is turning out just like her, was on hand to guide us through the London Tube and keep me company while Scandi and the Future Mrs Styles had a chance to look around Oxford Street and soak up the sartorial atmosphere of the London Look.
In the end, all my anxiety was for nothing and it turned out to be a very pleasant day during which the girls got to avoid historical sightseeing as per my agenda and I was free to browse the architecture (London really is architecturally stunning) while delighting in the three young women created by the Marchioness (and her husband, I guess I’ll give him some credit); the Future Mrs Style’s mother, Imelda May and me (I’m not giving their dad any credit). I love how they all got on: two half sisters (I really hate the “half” bit) and two second cousins became much closer over the last few days and I hope their bond continues.
I just read an article written by Tom Hiddleston on the crisis in South Sudan – which barely registers on the report worthy radar of the Western media – and once again, I’m back in my perspective box. Yes, I’m broke. Yes, I felt like absolute shit about myself in Victoria’s Secret today (but then again, all but Heidi Klum probably do) and I had a brief internal dalliance with a zero eating binge before I got out of that confidence black hole full of knickers and lace and back into the land of seeing reality for its unphotoshopped self.
Other stuff happened today, including watching Professor Green’s documentary on suicide; me giving driving instruction; an attempted mugging and an allergic reaction but we all survived it and I didn’t flail about like a possessed London pigeon and have to be escorted from Selridge’s.