Such a lucky escort

On Saturday twilight, I was centre court at Wimbledon watching the (long!) match between Andy Murray and Grigor Dimitrov. Thank goodness the game picked up around 10.20 pm as I started nodding on my date's shoulder. As it was, as the roof was rolled over, I had a chance to stretch my legs and get my second wind. It was such a long day considering we had just about covered every square inch of London from 2 pm - grazing on the go at as many expensive bistros, restaurants and shabby cafes as we could manage before hopping a tube across to Wimbledon. I was so full up that my client had to roll me to my seat practically.

So, to let my poor stomach settle, on Sunday, I sat reverently reading the papers in the vast dining room of The Savoy as my client topped us up with expensive coffee and planned his week on his Apple MacBook. It was most civilised of him and even more so as we didn't have to rush anywhere till 11 am when I caught the quiet tube back to Mayfair. 

This morning, I was called by Harold, one of my older clients, who wants me to go over to Belgravia to his six-bedroom townhouse to listen to him play his new Cello. I can't think of anything more relaxing; "food for the soul", he calls it. Despite my eclectic tastes in music, I do have a particular 'Grande passion' for a little Bach, and Harold knows this. We met at a concert about a year ago when his orchestral group gave a rendition of Vivaldi. I had goosebumps as they took my senses through the Four Seasons and a piece or two from his first opera, 'Ottone in Villa'. My friends call me a nerd, but I don't think there's such a thing when it comes to music.

So, as I am about to dart out the door, I'll quietly hum a few bars and try to refrain from singing too loudly upon my return.