An Australian Girl In London, Part 2

I am still in London, and I am still having adventures. I have not yet met Prince Harry, or even a less interesting royal figure like Prince Charles, but I have been touched by the hand of a wizard.

But we must start with breakfast.

I found a lovely restaurant called Muriel's kitchen where my mum and I took our morning meal. (I think that sounds very British, don't you?) There were platters of toast with little crock pots of butter and big glass jars of jam. There were steaming mugs of coffee and eggs any way and muffins and beans and spinach.

And then there was some disgusting black pudding made with the blood of a pig that British people seem to call 'food'. I will eat London eggs and I will munch London bread, but if they think I'm dining on some slab of bloody intestines that looks like a slice of car tyre... well, all I can say is, GIVE ME MY VEGEMITE.

Later that day I felt a tug inside, and was compelled to return to my spiritual home. No, not Australia! My real spiritual home. WESTFIELD. Sigh. Do you not know me at all?

My mother and I descended on Westfield London with tremendous enthusiasm. The shops! The food court! The even more shops! I bought about 20 billion items, at least three of which were for my kids. And I felt calm again, and at peace, for the first time since I left Australia.

The next day I began my publicity schedule. But I was having a bad hair day, and I couldn't possibly do publicity for my book with bad hair. So I found a nice salon and I enquired at the counter if there was anyone who could cut my long, curly hair.

"Oh, congratulations, you've won the hair lottery!" beamed Steven (as, I later learned, was his name).

"Really?" I asked. I was skeptical.

"Oh yes," he assured me. "I can fit you in with Julian. They call him the hair wizard, you know. He will transport you to new hair heights." (And no, I am not even kidding.)

I was keen to be transported to new hair heights, so off I went into Julian's arms. Well. Julian turned out to be a devastatingly handsome, 24 year old, straight Portugese hairdresser with the arms of a Greek god and the hands of a celebrity stylist. He did transport me to new heights, and not just of hair. It was a very good morning, and a very good cut.

After that, I did my interivews. I was dazzling. Well, at least my hair was. Given that the interviews were both on radio, that may or may not have been relevant.

But I felt really, really happy with my day. And I'm loving Juli... I mean London, to bits.