Hello, My Name is Paul Smith

Our train wasn't till 6pm, which at the time was planned to give us more time in London town, but was forgetting the general rule of 'the day you're leaving you just really want to get home don't you'. And with a load of concrete pounding the day before Mel's feet were suffering a bit.

But we were here to make the most of the day, and the main purpose of the trip was first up, heading off to see the remarkable Cheapside Hoard at the Museum of London. Beautiful beautiful stuff (and not a photo to be had as bags had to be securely deposited and not taken in).

Then it was back to the north of Clerkenwell, and Exmouth Market, which was a fab street of restaurants and outdoor food sellers. In the end we plumped for Morito, sister restaurant, and next door, to Moro. Truly fab tapas. Properly excellent. Could have stayed all afternoon, but over the wee plates we debated what to do (Geffrye Museum, ah, closed on Mondays; Westminster Abbey, hmmmm, back into the hornet's nest of busy central London; Design Museum on the bank of the Thames with a Paul Smith exhibition? Sold. I'm a bit of a Paul Smith fan, and I was convinced there would be some cycling references... Oh, and a stripy Mini - I have a pic of that in a PS wallet).

Taking in the increasingly ridiculous skyline one more time (that walkie-talkie building is hideous, to go with the daft Shard), it was back to the hotel for the bag, then onto King's Cross to gander at the masses, before the 4 and a half hour journey back north, reflecting on a weekend of much done, much good food eaten, many good cocktails drained, and many miles walked.

Lord Mayor's Carriage
KC
Stationed
Tubed