The Goring Hotel

Today was a day of running around and waiting, and notwithstanding the fact that we had the cricket to follow, it looked like being a fizzer until Bec decided we should go out. We left Hugh in charge, and went to the Goring Hotel next to our previous accommodation. I think Bec chose this place after hearing from taxi drivers that it was the Queen's favourite restaurant. It was a great experience, uniquely English, and modelled more on the appetite of Henry VIII than Elizabeth II. By the time I had a lovely Foie Gras, Lobster Omlette, (and half Bec's Halibut), there was absolutely no way I could consider dessert. How Elizabeth managed, I have no idea. The waiter even sent us away with what we Australians call a "doggie bag", another good old fashioned bit if common sense which is rarely seen in upmarket restaurants. Another observation I've made about London is the smallness of the geographical gap between the classy and seedy ends of town. In Sydney there is a buffer zone, but not here. Within a 3 minute distance of the restaurant I was taking this (extra) photo of the lower half of a female on the train. It was a good thing that I took the snap with discretion. Those shoes could definitely do some serious damage if the lady was kicking mood.