We stay in London.
Rather than risk missing the Eurostar train on Monday morning, we decide to stop off in the capital for the night. London! City of Pepys and Ackroyd, cradle of all that is enlightened in the history of Western intelligent man! I book the hotel myself.
It is right next to St. Paul’s Cathedral. I have not used this hotel before, but being right next to St. Paul’s Cathedral is about the best location that you can get. The history of Smithfield and Clerkenwell a short walk north; the oft-neglected back streets of the City all around; the bridge ‘cross the river to the south. Honestly, being right next to St. Paul’s is brilliant. I cannot think of a single disadvantage at all.
We walk across the footbridge to the Tate Modern. I have had an idea that I would like to show the Toddler the Tate Modern, as it is full of colourful eccentric things that she might like.
There are all sorts of cheap shots that I could make at modern art, but this is not really my style. I do not really like to do juvenile material.
Nevertheless the Tate Modern visit is not a success, mainly because it is impossible to explain to a three year-old why a piece of art based on the design of a children’s play area is not, in fact, a children’s play area. Also, it is possible to buy a two-volume hardback on the cultural significance of crisps to the development of twentieth-century pop culture, but no crisps.
We make an early return to our hotel next to St. Paul’s Cathedral, excited about the week ahead. The LTLP is keen to get a good night’s sleep to set her up for the journey.
It is not to be. Until midnight, on a regular basis, she is rudely awakened by a giant dong.