I have a day in London. I buy a stock of Silvo. I get my glasses fixed, for I had sat on them, by a very helpful lady called Mel in the Boots Optician on Clapham Common. Thanks Mel. I take the tube to London Bridge where I rent a bike from a stand and cycle gently to the Tate Modern.
There is an exhibition of Damien Hirst’s stuff, which is a bit um silly, except for one room which is very hot and humid and full of exotic butterflies. It is like Okinawa. The butterflies settle on you and engage you in conversation. Their vocabularary is a bit limited and I soon tire of talking about fruit. The rest of the show at the Tate was OK but you know.
I walk up the South Bank in an atmosphere of triste est omne animal post olympicum.
Many athlete looking people in fancy track suits so I eat some Fish and Chips.
I cross Westminster Bridge and go for a tour of Parliament.
The Victorians were a strange bunch. The buildings are full of paintings of Kings and whatnot and Sir Gawain swearing humility and Lady Jane Grey going to the bridge. I think it is time for a makeover. The actual House of Commons is remarkable for it smallness.
Back to Clapham to bathe in familial hospitality offered by Ian and Ann.