Dr Johnson, the 18th century man of letters, famously declared that 'when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life, for there is in London, all that life can afford"
Tired of London? Pah, not me, not now, not ever.
I'm never happier than when I'm throwing my money at old Londinium.
For the last three years, we thought of going somewhere else for our wedding anniversary but then saw sense.
So I donned a perfect cosy London hoofing outfit and headed to the capital.
My left hand looks waxy and creepily mannequin like in that glove. 'The Hand' has competition, make way for the 'Leatherine'. I'm going to make him the new blog enforcer, he is a multi-faceted character, he stings cheeks, challenges men to duels and keeps hands toasty and warm.
All hail 'The Leatherine'!
I spent my time in Belgravia, Mayfair and St James's - that most holy and spendy of trinities.
This is where Ma'am sources her couture and where my mum found her pistachio green delight for my wedding 15 years ago.
Ah Dukes, such a hidden oasis, loved by Ian Fleming who came here for his vodka martinis. Me? Alessandro makes me the finest Perfect Manhattan.
And if anyone has room left on their Christmas list, may I suggest a Diptyque Photophore, which fell into my, 'I didn't know how much I wanted you till I saw you', list of pretties.
We raced around the Daumier exhibition at the Royal Academy, utterly fascinating, pop in if you can.
We Scots do love our clubs, if you pop over to India's blog you'll see the club which her family belong to; the Savile, in the heart of Brook street, close to my darling Claridge's. My parents used to stay at The Caledonian, Scotland's embassy in London, which has reciprocals with Yale, Harvard and Princeton's private clubs, so there is always a fine badinage and persiflage the bar.
Scots Wha Hae!
Dinner was at the Wolseley, creatures of habit and all that.
Wiener Schnitzel Holstein
I am always very happy to be London's Boswell.