The electrician was supposed to be arriving at 10. I dragged myself out of bed at nine - on a Sunday. At 10.24 there was no electrician. I called him. Apparently he was running a couple of hours late. I was a bit arsey with him. He pretended not to hear. He said he'd be here at 1 p.m. I am not sure how 10 a.m. plus two hours equals 1 p.m., but I will be calculating his pay in much the same way.
So, faced with a free morning and unusual Sunday awakedness, I headed down Cheshire Street to have a gander at the boutiques there. Cheshire Street is an odd place. On the north side of the street, there are market stalls, ranging from the usuals (toiletries, hardware etc.), to some really odd people selling broken Action Men and very old stereo systems, and a copy of Muriel's Wedding. And then, literally two metres away, on the opposite side of the street, expensive boutiques sell tiny blocks of organic chocolate for over £5.
Anyway, one of my favourite shops in London is on Cheshire Street. It's called Comfort Station, and Erica and I came across it at Spitalfields Market a few years ago. Here is their website: http://www.comfortstation.co.uk. I chuckled a lot over their "Feed me cake" necklace and nearly got it for Erica, but it was £72 and I don't like Erica that much.
One shop I went into had a bench for sale. Two guys stopped in front of it. "It's Judi Dench," one of them said. I looked at the bench, wondering if perhaps Dame Judi had released a line of garden furniture. It said nothing about her on the sign. It told me it was made from renewable forests and was designed to be in harmony with both nature and her aesthetics. It said nothing about actresses. "Told you," said the guy. "It's Judi Dench." It wasn't. It was a wooden bench.
Do we think this is a new type of rhyming slang? Either that or the celebrated actress was behind me, buying overpriced chocolate in E2.
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