It's raining men...

We overslept this morning.  I'm not entirely surprised having walked the equivalent of a half marathon over the past two days, and we just about made breakfast.  

We did all the usual Christmas stuff today.  Carnaby Street, Regent Street, Borough Market, mulled wine (again), chocolate covered bananas and caramelised nuts.  There was also the issue of the very inclement weather.  Wandering around the whole A to Z of London, the husband decided that a purchase of a hat and scarf was necessary.  Being a fairly sensible woman, I had brought a hat, scarf and gloves with me, but the husband, being of tougher stuff (he hails from the north) had proclaimed that he was no southern softy and would deal with whatever the weather had to throw at him in a manly fashion.

Fast forward to late morning, the rain was chucking it down, and the manly fashion had morphed into wimpy whinging about a chaffed chin due to an evil coat zip and a wet head.  And so began the hut hunt.

We tried sports shops (these were emblazoned with sports logos, none of which meant anything to us, especially one brand called Titleist which gave us many minutes of childlike giggles).

We tried souvenir shops, but they had nothing plain to offer the husband.  He definitely does not rock any item of clothing sporting a Union Jack emblem or a picture of a Corgi wearing a crown.

But eventually we found something plain and blue for the husband, and happily wearing his new scarf and hat, we headed off to Marco Pierre White's restaurant in the East End for the second part of my birthday gift.  The food was excellent, but the welcome SW3 cocktail blew my socks away (along with the use of my mouth and legs).  By cocktail number two, I'd forgotten why I was there and the husband had to take the glass away from me.  How I have reached the age of sixty and never tried Grand Marnier is beyond me, but it will definitely be on my Tesco list next week.

Between the restaurant and our hotel, the husband managed to drop the hat twice, get the scarf caught in his vicious zip, and almost lose both new purchases by getting out of a cab too quickly.

As I followed him along the hotel corridor, the scarf trailed behind him on the carpet, and I told him to watch where he was going in case he tripped over it.

'You've never been good at accessorising, have you'. I said as I picked the scarf up.

'You were the best accessory I ever got', was his reply.

Correct...