The Mother Hen treated us to dinner at Spring at Somerset House. Frankly, when we walked in, I thought it would be a pretentious evening and we wouldn't enjoy ourselves: it was that prim and proper looking. I was wrong. The place was magnificent. And now for about five hundred narcissistic pictures of the two of us:
When Steven announces, "Let's get another bottle!" without first checking the price, you know it's a good night out.
But then he tore away from me at the tube station...
Aha! There you are!
Lordy.
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