Monday, Monday

We start our day at around nine again. With tea, made by Dolores, of course.

It’s getting on for ten when we stumble down to breakfast. It’s fairly quiet once more. Where is everyone? December is usually a busy month for the hotel.

A breakfast pf eggs, bacon and tomato.

Some of the foreign guests make bizarre breakfast choices.

“No-one British would have salami with bacon and eggs. It’s weird.”

“People from abroad don’t know that.”

“They should read up on the British breakfast rules before they travel. “

“Really?”

“Yes. So they don’t embarrass themselves at breakfast time.”

“Who’s checking them? The breakfast police?”

“If it was up to me, yes. Otherwise, it’s complete anarchy.”

Few around me seem to have consulted the English breakfast rules. Including Dolores. I’m sticking with an approved breakfast: bacon, egg and tomato. Nothing inappropriate on my plate.

We have a plan for today. The British Library. We head that way around noon. After a while of dossing around. 

The entrance of the British Library.

A couple of exhibitions have attracted our interest. One is about a silk road town in northwest China. The other on medieval women. We plump for the former as the latter is more expensive.

The exhibition is based around scrolls found in a cave around 1900. Thousands of them, in a variety of languages, dating from around 1,000 years ago. I can read the odd character in the Chinese texts. Mostly numbers. Those three years spent studying Chinese weren’t a total waste.

“Is this all there is? Just this one room?” Dolores asks, disappointed.

“Looks like it.”

“That’s no very much for eight quid.”

“Only six quid for me, oldie person.”

As we sill have time, we take a look at the free, permanent exhibition. Which has some really cool stuff. Like a Magna Carta. And, in the British Museum tradition, objects looted from all over the world.

Where to now? The answer is obvious: the Euston Flyer. It’s just over the road. I would be stupid not to drop in.

“A pint of ESB, please, Dolores.”

Obviously, she’s drinking London Pride. What else would she have in a Fullers pub?

Euston Flyer hand pumps.

It’s a bit after 15:00. And, being between the lunch and evening sessions, the pub isn’t very full. Though there are odd groups scattered around he interior. As quiet as we’ve seen a pub, so far.

The ESB is rather nice. Malty and full. Being cask, it slides down a treat. With none of that distracting fizz or chill. Why does anyone ever drink beer that isn’t cask?

We don’t go crazy. Only saying for a couple of pints.

Dolores spotted a fish and chip shop when wandering around the other day. And I really fancy pie and chips. So off we trail.

“We’ve no pies today.”

Bum. We’ll have to make do with fish and chips. Which is what we do.

On the way back to the hotel we drop by Waitrose. Where we trail the lovely fish and chip smell behind us.

“Why do you need more whisky, Ronald?”

“For the train tomorrow. I wouldn’t want to die of thirst.”

“Right. You could drink that cola you bought the other day.”

“I will do. Just with some added knives.”

The fish and chips are pretty good. The fish well cooked. And a decent portion of chips. One between the two of us is plenty.

I finish off my litre of cheap whisky watching Match of the Day 2.




The Euston Flyer
83-87 Euston Rd.,
London NW1 2RA,
https://www.eustonflyer.co.uk/