Puddings, pink ladies and fishing nets
Well now I can say I’ve lunched at The InterContinental Hotel, Park Lane and a very nice lunch it was too. When my husband, Bob, gave the London taxi driver the hotel’s address, the cabbie asked if we’d won the lottery – obviously then we didn’t look the usual clientele of The InterContinental. I wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or offended. I, of course, pretended to be a World famous crime novelist, but it didn’t fool the cabbie. The problem with authors is that people only recognise the names J.K Rowling and Dan Brown. Still, he said his wife reads crime novels, so I duly handed over one of my bookmarks, giving details of my marine mysteries and thrillers, and told him she might like to look me up in her local library, or dare I say it, buy one of my books. The hotel staff were very polite and friendly, but then they should be for the amount is costs to stay there, not that I know the price, I didn’t bother checking – way out of my league. The lunch was a pleasure and by that I ...
