Saturday morning the aftermath of the Friday night wine showed itself as it took the three of us until 11am to get out of bed/off the couch/air mattress and on our way to breakfast. Salad with your omelet? Uh, ok.

Ebeth and I with Su, who flew in Friday night from Amsterdam at breakfast. I don’t believe in dressing up much on vacation, clearly.

Following breakfast while Ebeth slaved over StoveTop back at the flat in preparation for our belated Thanksgiving, I escorted Su on the tube and through the chaos of Piccadilly so she could hit Pink for a few schmancy dress shirts.

PDA is rampant here, which brings up a great assortment of feelings but on Saturday it was mostly sidewalk rage. That’s what I’m going to call it, anyway, when lovebirds insist on walking hand in hand at a leisurely pace on a busy, crowded, otherwise fast moving narrow city sidewalk. I did a happy dance when we finally arrived at our elusive, well hidden destination, then I made Su pose for me.

Dinner with the expats hosted by Pat and his lovely wife Ann was followed in short order by Su slipping into a triptophan coma. I took advantage of the situation by posing her with a suction cup gun that belonged to the twelve year old son of our hosts and a half a glass of wine.

The day was one that might not lend itself to antidotes or stories that will be told for years to come, but it was one full of laughter, good people, sparkling conversation and a kinsmanship that only a gaggle of expats celebrating a belated Thanksgiving with makeshift ingredients overseas could realize. It was probably the most enjoyable holiday I’ve had since my early 20’s.