In London, strange things happen. Flatsitting in Holland Park, the doorbell rang and I found myself talking to a beautiful black Belgian jazz singer who was looking for the owner (off on a round the world yacht race). We hit it off, went out, she took me to a club in a deserted warehouse in N London, then to a French private members club near Soho where I had Meguez sausages and a huge reefer before we ended the night snogging each other's faces off on a houseboat on the Thames.
I somehow think it could never have happened anywhere else but that London