Happy Birthday, Mom.

The sun is finally out and the temperature starting to warm. We may have Spring yet, though I'm sure I'll soon be complaining about the humidity. We had another holiday weekend here in England but I stayed home and worked on getting over my recent cold. I got up early on Saturday to look at yet more tacky, pastel-coloured, overpriced, badly furnished, inconvenient flats in Clapham. If I walk into another peach-coloured room I may scream. And as several agents have described places as tasteful, I'm starting to doubt there's any taste at all in the industry. Plain white walls would be a blessing right now. I then had a mediocre mexican lunch with Lance to celebrate cinco de mayo.

Rented a tuxedo for the Insead ball at the end of the month. They're quite cheap to rent here, 46 pounds for the four-day weekend, but I'm afraid I'll rather look like a waiter in mine. I'm looking forward to a weekend of drinking champagne in a French chateau even if it is with a bunch of MBAs.