Well, I had a little health scare and just got back from a whirlwind medivac to London. I had not one, but three lumps in my breast, and too bad it wasn’t four because then I could have named them Paul and Ringo, John and George, I loved my two-day glimpse of England that much.
I made up for what I didn’t buy in Rome by buying two of everything in London, my suitcase was so overstuffed coming home. Oh my god. Waitrose. Brora. Cath Kidston. Up close and personal. It poured rain and I fell in love with a radio station with dj’s so funny I didn’t want to leave my hotel room. Between my doctor’s appointment and the embassy the cab driver–those cabs! What could be cuter?–I got see the most important sight in London: Madonna’s house, or one of them anyway.
I was needle biopsied within an hour of hitting town–wait! wait! I’m not ready!–and put up in room overlooking Big Ben and Westminster Cathedral and the rooftops that Mary Poppins danced upon. Mammogram and ultrasound on day two of two. All clear that afternoon. Whew. So I dodged that bullet and two car bombs. Came home to read about the almost car bombing on the street I’d stayed on in my new favorite newspaper, the London Times. I can’t wait to go back, but under circumstances where my life isn’t flashing before me.
twenty-something years of "what have you been up to?" 
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