I’d bought 48 hour passes for the London bus tour and I hadn’t quite worked out when we were going to use it. The weather has been so picture perfect that just being on the street has been a delight, but I wanted to take Dom up West and the bus seemed like a.plan. It’s odd that the blue route takes you further but has the canned commentary, while the red route misses so much of the West but had those witty Londoners doing live commentary. The cost of the blue route is simple : you never want to hear Elgar ever again.

The advantage is to get you up West on some comfort and above ground. The utilitarian tube avoids any engagement with the touristy bits of the town  and you are left to imagine what is going by above your head as you whoosh across town on the original and best mass transit system. 

Bus it was, to the north and the west, with London and Londoners sunning themselves in those magnificent royal parks. Off the bus after several rounds of the Nimrod variations to have a geeze at Harrods and heave at the Di and Dodi memorial, surely a sign that humanity has really lost its way. How appropriately placed in Harrods, lifestyles of the rich, stupid and entitled. Outside to wander the streets of Brompton, wondering what Faber would have thought of all those hijabs, as we stopped off at the Oratory – site of the least inspiring mass I have ever attended, which is really saying something. They must be doing something right, because you have to get your name ticked off at mass to get your son into the Oratory School. No headscarf here.

A bite to eat and we were into the Victoria and Albert Museum, always one of my favourites. We managed to spend nearly three hours there without repeating much of what if already seen and I’m sure I could go back for another day and not retrace my steps – not that it would worry me at all, because the V&A never stoops to the popular and childish. It is at least the equal of the BM in my view and, with my love of those odd people the Victorians, more engaging and human. It’s like comparing Newton to Dickens in am odd way@

Dinner in Covent Garden followed, though why we didn’t stay up west I have no recollection. My feet and brain are somehow connected, because both are tired.