Firstly, I’m visiting Brinda Berry today where I discuss peanut butter, writing and my latest release, Cat Burglar in Training. I’m also doing a giveaway.
One of the pubs my husband and I worked in while we lived in London was called the Grosvenor Arms. This was a small pub, on Grosvenor Street, a stones throw from Bond Street and right in the heart of Mayfair.
When I was a kid I loved to play monopoly, so it was a thrill to actually live and walk down some of the streets bearing the familiar names from the childhood game.
Grosvenor Square and the American Embassy were a few minutes down the road. Hubby and I would go for walks, even on days that were a bit nasty to get a breath of fresh air. At that time pubs used to close from 2.00pm to 5.30pm, and we had a few hours off.
London during the winter can be very gray. Not only did all the workers wear black, but the sky and buildings were often a sullen gray color, which was depressing for everyone. I loved the spring when the daffodils would pop out of the ground and bring a touch of sunshine with them.
Now and then, during our walks, hubby and I would “liberate” a few daffodils and take them back to our room to keep in a vase. I liked to enjoy the spring indoors too, and hubby indulged me.
One day, we’d just picked a few daffodils and a policeman walked along the footpath. I quickly hid the daffodils under my coat (see said coat – exhibit A – in the photo). He must have seen us, but luckily ignored our transgression and walked on.
The policeman scared us, since it was an unwritten rule not to pick the flowers. We never stole another daffodil, instead saving our hard-earned pennies to buy a bunch at one of the markets. I still love both daffodils, spring and walking though. Some things never change.
Now, in a totally unrelated subject – I’m on the hunt for a cheesy name for the fictional strip club I’m writing about at present. My mind is blank. Does anyone have a suggestion for a name for my strip club?