Late For An Important Date

B and I are running late. We've gone up and down the length of Portabello Road, stopping to look at scarves, furs, books. We stopped for a coffee and I stopped too many times to take photos.

And now we're running late. We're at Ladbroke Grove, getting on to the Hammersmith & City Line; we're at Hyde Park, switching to the Jubilee Line. We're jumping off the Tube; we're racing up the escalator. We're flying down Piccadilly, looking for Albemarle Street, and we're bursting into the front door of Brown's Hotel. When the maitre d' points us in the direction of our table, we collapse onto the small banquette.

Because you really can't be late for afternoon tea.