Trying to write my history book in the mornings, I got to the Romans today, completing ancient Greece yesterday, and found myself juggling Asterix with Gibbon, Carry on Cleo and Up Pompeii! Ventured out to the West End as oft I used to do in search of less rarified air. The hairdressers next to the Coach and Horses has historically been most convenient, and I thought; 'A haircut always cheers you up' and 'a chance to cut loose like a dog off the leash' etc etc. After a couple of stops on the way (a dog has his lamp posts) I found myself back in the Coach anxious to see how new owners Fullers were doing, only to find the old manager Alistair still in charge and the place still bereft of carpets or anything or anybody hospitable. I don't know how he did it, manage to ruin a whole institution in such a short time. Anyway Mark was there still becoming an astrophysicist wearing a straw cowboy hat.
I braced myself for a visit next door, only to be comforted by the sight of Laila from Lithuania. If you are going to sit supine in anybodies chair (dentists/hairdressers/psychiatrists etc) I definitely prefer to be sure of the operators powers, and the lovely Laila not only looked as if she could pull a tractor (a look I've always liked) but had the most fantastic tits.
Suitably reclined, I watched her work away to create the most esteemed of victorian beards. Thankfully one part of Soho still works, but the rest, I guess I'm past it now, twenty years in the Coach was enough, let it go, to be honest I couldn't wait to get home.
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