We gather at the house of the Queen's Own Jane, in a little English suburb roughly 4,500 miles southwest of London, where we all adopt English accents and succumb to the charms of her
pre-Revolutionary take on all things American liquor cabinet, which isn't exactly a cabinet, more like a landscape.
There are little sausages, top secret cocktails and an orgy of book talk. I want to have sex with her bookshelves, but she says no.
We are allowed to play with the finger puppets however.
Photo: Hem, F. Scott, Zelda and I share a Pimm's outside of London. Way outside.