Duxford Girl

For the first time in weeks I was the first to arrive almost on time and secure a table. This gave me plenty of time to appreciate what a gray, miserable day it was outside. I couldn't help but notice that there were no answers to my life at the bottom of my black, inky coffee. About 45 minutes later the rest of the gang started to drift in and we were quorum again. Cindy pondered why we haven't made the “usual time” later but we explained that it's tradition to keep it at 10 am and that it increases the chances of one of us arriving on time and getting a table.

There was a discrepancy about the cream on the table, apparently it was milk. This affected me very little as I take both my tea and coffee black however I can understand the irritation as it is almost impossible to get black anything in London. To request tea without milk in Britain is a terrible and insulting thing.

Meanwhile, Cousin Petey had been at it again with late night disturbing phone calls about Satan.

There is a decided lack of testosterone at the Lido these days and generally conversation deteriorates to topics about width versus length. Lucky for women, we don't need locker rooms. It was inevitable that this conversation would lead to memories of Wreck Beach and a certain lad Tina and I had dubbed “Wreck Beach Boy”. Seriously, even in cold Pacific water at the end of April this guy had it goin' on.