“What’s the purpose of your stay?”
“I’m on a food tour of the U.K.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes, I have a food blog.”
“I was thinking of starting me one of those too. Me ‘n my partner, we had a name for it, ‘The Wobbly Table’. That’s the worst part of a restaurant experience isn’t it? The wobbly table. The name was taken though. What’s the name of yours?”
“Feed Me Dearly.”
“You got a card on ya?”
I rooted around my 20-year old blue canvas passport wallet, the one that still carries a yellowed love note from my husband, and passed him my information in pseudo-laminate form: website name, email address, social details.
The passport control agent looked at it, smiled at the three mischievous toeheads staring up from his palm, and let me through.
“Welcome to London.”
London
