The Dorchester

We arrive at The Dorchester (yes, that magnificent hotel) and the doorman declares, almost apologetically, seeing that my nose was frozen red (and was perhaps slowly turning blue), "Bin awl sun the pawst days, reeli ... Thiz heye's ou fae-st drizzle thiz week!" As if I really needed to be told that WE brought the rains with us. I thought, never mind.

Must put on sunniest face. Am in London!!! And in fabulous Dorchester! -- the doorman in a cheery red and gold suit, fresh flowers fabulously arranged atop huge marble column urns, hotel staff constantly referring to me as "Madame" ("Why, of course, Madame ... "; "Right away, Madame ... " "As you wish, Madame ..."), real silver (as in, sterling) and real porcelain dishes on the tables, embroidered silk table napkins, broccade-upholstered chairs and settees.

Everything was fabulous -- I mean, I actually realized I never knew the meaning of fabulous until I saw the Dorchester. At first glance, I thought it "unimpressive" -- the lobby is small compared to those of Manila's hotels -- but, man, every detail of the hotel spoke to me, "You cud say the Dawchesta is a smawl 3.0c but intah-nally flawless diamond; awl othas, I'm afrayd, may be as huge as Ms. Hilton's 24.0 c, but ahr veri sadly incluuuded reeli ..."

Hubby and I are led to our room by the reception clerk, who gives us a tour of -- get this -- our own room! She drawled as we reached the bathroom ... "The bawth is the deepest bawth in the whooole of Lundun ... and it fils in only unda twooo minits!" (I would have a chance to confirm her claim only a week later!).

Amidst the glory of the Dorchester, you can imagine, I very soon forgot that it was raining out ...