ten

Took me an hour this morning to select which shade of tweed I'd be wearing today.

Why? So glad you asked.

I went to 10 Downing Street for a meeting. One of the only reasons why this week was rad, is because of the run-up to this.
I went to the house of the prime minister, and for the occasion I took out my finest tweed and Woman Cravat. She Who Hates Socialists pointed out that my cravat was a "nice Tory blue." That's right.

Exhibit A:

Which took me to:

..posing like a teapot in front of number 10.

...and getting all excited and flailing wildly.

One day when Hugh Grant (really) gets to run for PM, he can do it too.

It's more a galvanised door than a wooden one. And it's polished so nicely, it shines.
The other thing is that there are other doors nearby with '11' and '12' on them. Why doesn't anyone want pictures next to those?

I had a whale of a time. To be fair, it was a meeting, but I felt very privileged to see the inside. And all the relics from past prime ministers. As My Brit said from Sweden, I was lucky to go in as a foreigner - many Brits never get to go near this. And walking through the sea of tourists to enter through the gate of Downing Street felt particularly nice. And important.

To substantiate all things political (and just merely in the celebration of tweed for being tweedy), me and She Who Also Loves Tweed (appropes?) are going on a magical day of shopping, champagne sipping, The Iron Lady watching and dim sum eating on Sunday in Mayfair.

Dude. It's like the perfect day in the capital. First a stop at Selfridges to look at more tweed, whilst dressed in tweed (obligatory), and then to watch the blockbuster on the best female prime minister of all time. Apparently they don't paint her in the best light. They being Hollywood. So to commiserate, we will have slow gins afterwards.

2012 is looking up. Satan didn't try to strangle me through my own body last night, either.