No one could have prepared London for Dom, and certainly I wasn’t. From the moment we came off the Tube at Waterloo, and saw the City against the skyline with the Thames beneath in the sunshine, I realised I  had co-created a monster. And, like another modern Prometheus, there will be little rest while he is on the loose!

Monday was the Museum of London. Last time nothing was opened to the public after the great fire  of London – there is a joke in that somewhere – but this time it was the metropolis from BP to CE. We powered happily through hoards of prehistoric hand axes while hordes of primary children in Fluorescent jackets attended by harassed adults thronged around us. It became obvious why the flint tools and weapons were under glass. The my inner teacher had twitching hands, just like my on duty colleagues. If you could kill a Thames Valley hippo with a flint hand axe, then peace might be only a moment away. I pointed out to Dom that we were victims of the weather. If you had to take a child on an excursion in England,  September was it. It might be overcast, but at least it wasn’t sleet.

We clawed our way across the centuries, wondering if plague rats would make good pets for the under nines, but surfaced in the reformation  with some stunning examples of Tudor artistry  and  iconoclasm. From there we were just a match stick from the Fire and on into the Ages of Empire. Dom decided that the various copies of Cromwell’s death mask were worthy of note, but he forgot the gory details of the Protector’s post-mortem execution once we got to the Victorian exhibits, where the curators have built an entire set of lafe-cenfury shops to illustrate life and culture in fin-de-siecle  London. All great fun, but I rather preferred the attempt to deal with this city’s ongoing struggle with poverty and marginalisation.

We emerged, decided on a nice pub for wlunch as it as drizzling… and the heavens opened. We had intended to use our bus tour vouchers, but there were better days than today to it. So a trip to Greenwich and an early tea sounded like the way to go. It poured all the way, but we wandered around what has become a busy and cosmopolitan village surrounded by medium and high rise developments. You wouldn’t recognise Deptford, Mum and Dad; and even down towards Woolwich is now all high rise and trendy bars.

Having hit the roads at 7 this morning for a run and then walked about 15 km, my feet were killing me and it only seemed just to head in for an early night. The downside with Canning Town is it is not great  or food, so I think we  will try to experiment a but in Greenwich, Southwark and Canary Wharf. It’s pouring outside, so we may need some plan Bs.