Polonium 210 and Dickens

I thought I was loosing my mind last weekend. I had my suitcases laid out in one of the bedrooms and started throwing my clothes in them. I had errands to run and would stop and start with the packing. After a while I noticed some of the things I thought I had packed were missing. I’d go look in the closets or dresser and there they would be as if I had never moved them. I was busy and preoccupied and assumed I was getting absent minded so I’d pick them up and put them back in the suitcases. It wasn’t until late Sunday after I really got serious with the packing that I caught Dark taking a pile of my underwear out of a suitcase and sneaking it back into our bedroom. Aw, isn’t that too saccharine for words? He didn’t want me to leave.

I had a good flight to London Monday. My seatmate was Rachel Griffiths and her baby. Normally I hate flying next to a baby but this child, Adelaide Rose, was a trooper. She never cried or wiggled or pooped and smelled or anything. In fact, I held the tyke each time Rach, I call her Rach now, would go to the bathroom. (Eat your hearts out because I now know the plotlines of the next six episodes of Brothers & Sisters). Normally I believe babies should be banned from first class. Why should I pay the obscenely high ticket price and be subjected to a crying baby? However I will gladly give Adelaide Rose Taylor an exemption. Rachel was on my flight with her daughter while her husband was on another flight with their son, Banjo. Rachel is another charming delightful Australian. After she talked about growing up on the Gold Coast I asked if she would say hello to gay Scott, a fellow Gold Coaster, at Heathrow when he picked me up. She graciously agreed. I wish I had a picture of Scott’s face when Rach and I strolled out of Passport Control together. All he could do was say “Jesus, it’s Brenda”. He had just finished watching all 5 seasons of Six Feet Under on dvd. Priceless.

God, I love being back in London! Jet lagged like crazy Tuesday morning I stumbled over to The Regency Hotel and had a full English breakfast. Just hope I got the polonium-free scrambled eggs. Following the Russian spy poisoning story has kept me intrigued. I see a board game here. Jane and I are going to the Barbican tomorrow night to see Mark Ravenhill’s Dick Whittington and his Cat. I intend to OD on pantos and Christmas shows before Dark arrives. I can’t believe I fell for a guy that isn’t a theatre buff. Movie people! Yesterday I brought down the Christmas decorations and am hitting the shops this week for new ones. The inside of this house is going to look like a Dickens set. Anyone know where I can rent a cripple kid? ... Maybe I can get Rach to loan me Banjo to play Tiny Tim for the holidays.