I wake up at seven after what can only be described as a great night’s sleep. Probably thanks to the use of ear plugs. Tony on the other hand was rather to comment on his sleep, maybe too polite to speak about my snoring one would imagine.
I had thoughtfully booked breakfast in with the price of the room, so we were able to go don to the ground floor, and have our fill of fruit, cereal, sausage, bacon, eggs, hash browns, fried bread, toast and a pot of tea. All for a few quid.
So, full of cheap but good food, we could now take our cases to Euston and despit them at left luggage. In order to do this, it was so much easier to get a taxi instead of taking the tube, and I hoped Tony might get ideas of places he might like to visit. However, once having crossed Waterloo Bridge, on the north side enter a twisting tunnel taking us under the City, and not passing anywhere there or Westminster, Whitehall or Buck House.
Anyway, I had ideas.
At Euston we find the left luggage place, and they relieve us of £36 for our three bags, but from then on we could travel light. And travel to Liverpool Street for the start of the wanderings round the City and beyond.
Rush hour was over, so we got on a District Line train for the ten minute ride east. Liverpool Street, like all termini was packed, people coming or going, or some other state between the two. We have to make our way to Bishopsgate, one of the main streets into The City.
Everywhere was crowded, and everyone was in a hurry, except for we two travellers, walking the streets from highlight to highlight, passing by (though maybe not in this order): St Ethelburga’s, St Helen’s. The Gherkin, St Andrew Undercroft, St Peter upon Cornhill, Leadenhall market, Lloyds, The Cheesegrater, Willis, The Bank of England, Mansion House. Stopping off for a coffee and a Bakewell Slice.Fe found ourselves at Lower Thames Street, as Tony had wanted to recreate a shot he took in 1989 when we was last here, of HMS Belfast and Tower Bridge beyond. I took him to St Magnus to see a model of Old London Bridge, then back out, past The Monument to stand on the new London Bridge so he could take his shot.
He then left me to walk to Tower Bridge past the battleship and City Hall across Tower Bridge, past The Tower of London and back. I take myself to a pub the other side of London Bridge and have a pint of beer.
An hour passes and I go to meet Tony down by the landing stage of one of the Clippers, but the plan changed again and we decide to cross back over the other side to walk the north bank, and then to The Black Friar where we hoped Jools was going to meet us.
As it turned out, the walk took less time than thought, and as we walked back along Lower Thames Street, I see a sign advertising a pub with riverside views, I though this seemed ideal place for lunch and more beer.
We get a table looking out a picture window, the other side of which were a line of dirty tabbers puffing away. We stay inside and feast on nachos; a huge bowl for eight quid, which seemed a bargain.
From there it was ten more minutes to the Black Friar, where I treat myself to a pint of Timothy Taylor Dark Mild, and we wait for Jools some more. She had texted to say she had deposited the cats OK, and was on her way up, but since then I had heard nothing.
I made the pint last an hour, sitting in what was now nearly warm sunshine, watching the City Workers come for a refreshing beer before their journey home. We only had to walk to Blackfriars to catch a Crossrail service to Kings Cross, then once back at ground level, I showed him the splendours of St Pancras station. By which time Jools had called and we arranged to meet at Euston, so we walked past the British Library to the station, meeting up with Jools as planned outside a diner, where we planned to have dinner.
We have dinner; something called chicken tenders, waffle fries and a coke. We manage to make this simple meal last an hour, and even then we still had 90 minutes before we could even think about getting our bags back. So, we stand outside watching people go by, doing what we were doing; waiting: the sad young woman, the lady with two dogs in a shopping bag, two cyclists, goths and assorted people, eating, drinking and waiting.
At eight we get our cases, then to go wait some more on the concourse, looking at the destination boards telling us which platform our train was waiting at. At half past, platform 1 is announced, and so we wander across the station, down the slope and after showing our tickets to the guard, directed to the far end of the platform, just behind the locomotive. 
Once at the carriage, we were shown to our cabin, which, and I wish I took shots of it to prove this account, but only about four feet wide, with two bunks,, a sink, but into which we had to fit along with all our luggage. It was a tight squeeze, and once Jools was in the top bunk, we really could not get back out. But we would go back to sleep on the outskirts of London and wake up in bonnie Scotland.
The train moved off, and soon was powering through the northern suburbs and into the home counties. The adventure had really begun.
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