A bit of Whitney gives way to Michael Jackson, via a segue into The Girl from Ipanema. Tall and tan and young and lovely she may well be, but I can't lie. Her passing by is not making me go Ah, because it's a little hard for me to focus on my delightful fried sea bass.
At the end of a journey which would be worthy of Odysseus if he owned an Oyster card, I reach a brightly lit, white-walled dining room, clad in intricate toffee-colored Balinese textiles.
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