Dear god! …

… The very (public) houses seem asleep.

Wordsworth’s famous poem recalls a London that is silent in the early hours, in which case he would have understood what the capital looks like on a Good Friday night. It was seriously quiet. No office workers so no after work eating and drinking. Empty pubs and empty restaurants, such as this one where we ate tonight in Fitzrovia with Maud and The Rogster. 

Exhausting day. Built Little Miss A’s cot. Minor panic over carbon monoxide (turned out the alarm was faulty). Cleaning and admin. 17,000 steps and a couple of beers. Good day.