After four days of temperatures in double figures and blue sunny skies overhead, spring declared itself to be over, and the England of which weather legends have been made returned as suddenly as it had departed.
Because it's something of a novelty for us and we haven't had to endure it for seven or eight months on the trot, we don't mind "bleak" every now and then. It gives us a chance to sleep in, to find a warm museum and perhaps a cosy pub only too willing to provide us with a week's worth of calories under the guise of a single meal.
Actually sleeping-in is probably a bit of a tall ask, when one has imposed on one's children who live in a flat that is no larger than the back seat of an old VW. While we live very comfortably sleeping on an air mattress, it would be an unfair imposition on them were we to remain recumbent, blocking their access to kitchen and bathroom when they in all fairness do have to earn a living, to say nothing of preparing our morning coffee.
The museum of choice today turned out to offer a splendid outing; the smallest nationally owned museum, the house of Architect and collector of all things, John Soane. Once again we found ourselves marvelling at a collection that has been intact almost since Australia was declared a British Possession. To add to the wonder, said Mr Soane had the foresight to build his house just around the corner from the West End, a short stroll to Drury Lane where finding a pub in which we could eat all the pulled pork burgers we liked and wait for as long as it took for the weather to turn was not even a challenge.
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