Shard

London.  Southwark Bridge.  0830.  18°C and humid.


Fog shrouds the top of the Shard.


Later it reaches 23°C before a shower finally offers hope of a cooler, less humid, evening.


I go for a run as the shower dissipates.


The paths along the Thames are slick and greasy.  I have to watch my footing. 

Thunder fractures the rumble of the city. Strobes of lightening illuminate the clouds.  

When I return, my shower may get me cleaner, but I am no wetter than when I entered it.

It's time for a pint and some food.


I find a bar and order on an app, informed this is the quickest way to get service.  My beer arrives in seconds, with the news that my chosen food is no longer available.  I select a substitute.  I am not forgiven the £1 difference in price and a card reader materialises.  I am too British to do more than make an oblique remark on this.



The pint is good. The food is good. 


The rain hasn't broken the humidity.  


I'll sleep regardless. It's been a long day.