Twenty-four hours ago, Scotland become a better place.
Latest Blog Posts
Rotherhithe is one of the parts of London which has retained its village atmosphere. By the Thames and in view of central London, it has a charming pub, the Angel, and some pleasant parkland. It is quiet, too, the only noise coming from the occasional cyclist, the birds' singing and the river lapping against the steps.
I am officially become an old man.
Last week, I visited the Italian gardens at Saltburn by the Sea, and fell asleep on a bench. The sun shone, the flowers swayed, the birds sung. Even my companions’ chatter did not thwart my snooze.
The Cockpit in central London is named after the cockfights which took place here until outlawed in 1849. My Dictionary of Pub Names states that the viewing gallery for such entertainments is still erect, but my inner nonconformist (and the time of day) did not attempt to execute corroboration. By its main entrance, under a Victorian admonishment for courage, was a sign: