Leftovers #76

I think about leaving London at least once a day, and all it takes is an evening in Soho to turn me back around. A quick wine and a catch up before Margaux (writer of

The Onion Papers

) leaves for Glasgow at The French House; an amble around Liberty; and a leisurely stroll to St John where not one but three perfect martinis were consumed with one of best friends from school. Lu, a diehard Londoner, tells me that I always try and remedy a sense of indirection with a three month trip to the other side of the world. What a compass to have when your own leads you too far west. We snacked on crispy pigs ears and buttery hake and perfectly boiled new potatoes that I slathered with the leftover butter from our bread. We talked about being 21, blindly optimistic about dating in central London, when Gordon’s on a Friday night was the height of sophistication (the golden years tbh). It was restorative. Who knew all it took was a trip to Marylebone on a warm autumn evening to lure me back into the comforting bosom of the city?