Ironic capital

Mick and I had a ribald and boozy evening with roast beef and the trimmings rather hastily thrown together towards its long end.

A grey sky this morning and blowing rain on the ENE wind brought us down to earth. Despite a hearty breakfast fuzzy heads and furry tongues prevailed as we made our way up to The Smoke on' The Javelin'.

Eating seemed imperative and we stopped at the London Review of Books bookshop coffee shop where we ate al fresco somewhat to the surprise of the staff. I had a look at 'The Maisky Diaries' written by the Soviet Ambassador in London during the war that was reviewed on the radio earlier in the week. It looks fascinating.

We then went to the Celtic show at the British Museum. The signage was terrible and we ended up wandering up the steps of the central raised room in the airy atrium. There is a cafe up there that I did not know about and the raised position afforded a close-up of the Museum's impressive Ionic Capitals carved from Portland stone.

The Celtic do at £16 was a wee bit underwhelming. A large silver cauldron from Denmark with embossed mythological animals was the highlight. Too many people having too many inconsequential conversations and generally getting in the way did not help.

We drifted in a blurry haze towards Foyles and climbed the five flights of stairs to the crowded coffee room. Forty minutes wandering the books but nothing leapt out at me. I was just too tired. Then - brilliant idea - a pub in Soho for a pint. Fortified but sorry to leave we completed our five and half mile pavement safari with an Indian meal at the Indian Lounge opposite Kings Cross.

Mick retrieved his left luggage for a king's ransom and we said our goodbyes and travelled our different steel roads home.

There is no greater solace than a true friend.