When Daddy BRAPA revealed that more engineering works on that York-London line meant we wouldn't arrive in Kings Cross until 11:30am, I decided remaining in London for a days ticking made most sense. Especially as we were back out on the 19:00. Yes, I had to make the 'painful' decision to turn my back on the current brapple of my eye, Hertfordshire, and keep it simpler.
More happily (brappily?), of my EIGHT required Central London ticks, six actual opened on a Saturday. A surprising stat for the City, from past experience. Only the Deveraux at Temple and the Jackalope at Marylebone were letting me down on this score.
We hopped straight on a Tube, and were still a way off noon when we hit Old Street. Tempted by a pre-emptive?
|Like that thing in Birkenhead?|
Sadly, it was all hair and no ale. Not even a pint of Trim Taylor's. Thanks, I'm here all week.
|Dad knocking over the Christmas decoration when removing his coat was a 'moment of drama'|
|Dad's monstrous expression (caused by weird bench man) would set scene for many future outdoor poses today|
|BRAG can absolutely bugger off. They'll be hearing from my lawyers.|
|He must be a Clydesdale man|
|The one piece of evidence I went to the smaller 'pub'|
|Col high fiving a pint of ESB - #PubCaul|