Grand old men

We had a great day today. It shouldn't have been possible to cram everything into the time, but somehow it worked. First, the hairdresser for me, to get long overdue highlights. Then Chiara rushed us to the station to catch the train to London, where we met up with HH's aunt at Waterloo before joining another old friend (but new to Aunt Sue - who's all of two years older than HH) at the National Theatre. Parents and small children (girls mostly in Frozen outfits hardly suited to a rainy day in The Big Smoke) swarming everywhere and occupying every seat in the restaurants drove us on till we reached the relative calm of the National Film Theatre. Whereupon we had a very pleasant couple of hours, over decent food and lots of chat, before parting company and catching the Tube to Sloane Square.

This meeting place had been suggested by another old friend, who took us to the Royal Chelsea Hospital, home to the Chelsea Pensioners. There we were privileged to be shown round the Chapel and the dining hall by the Adjutant. It's a wonderful place, with a fascinating history. And boy, do those Pensioners eat well - full English breakfasts and then some (apparently no concern with ingestion of cholesterol or other dietary no-nos). Then HH and Nigel went off for a quick look at the library before it closed, while I went with the Adjutant's to collect some poems he had written. These were in his 'berth' - a small suite off a long, wide panelled corridor, decorated with photos of his late wife and his long service history.

Back downstairs, HH and Nigel were just being turned out of the library, so we repaired to the café, where we met two twinkly-eyed brothers, Tom and Dave. They were excellent company and it was a delightl to hear about their lives, and what it's like for them now, living at the Hospital. They even took us to see a display of the arts and crafts done by the inmates, in the Hospital building itself.

After bidding them a fond farewell, Nigel took us to greet Margaret and Dennis Thatcher - to be honest, I'm not sure if they are actually buried in the grounds, of if we were just looking at memorial stones - but I think it's the former, and they rest among the many pensioners who have gone before.

Then farewell to Nigel, back to the station and home to Chiara's, met by James at the station. We're being thoroughly spoiled.