London conversations

In a foreign city once again
You waved weakly in the night
The early sun of London morning
Burned the darkness with unanswered light

Tea and toast. A walk through a warm, grey Regents Park - confused by the map, we never find the "Queen's Garden". We are horrified by the fluorescent green fountains and the rows of dead, candle-shaped conifers.

South, across Oxford Street to Soho, weaving back to Regent Street and Piccadilly Circus. The salad bar we have chosen for lunch doesn't do salads on Saturday - which seems like a serious omission. We continue, unfed, across Trafalgar Square, down Haymarket, and over the bridge at Charing Cross.

A quick salad and soup at the National Theatre and it's time for the first show of the day: Jane Eyre. We quickly realise it's a re-staging of a production we saw with the kids a few Christmases ago. It's very good. Again.

Up the Oxo Tower for an aperitif. The place is mobbed. On the balcony they hand out blankets, but we get a table near the bar, where the view is foreshortened, but the temperature is controlled.

The Blanc Brasserie is expecting us. We consult the pre-theatre menu and find it acceptable. The Albariño is out of stock, but a Muscadet is a nice alternative.

And now it's time for St George and the Dragon - a new play. The set is fantastic and the show itself is funny and moralistic by turns. There are some great effects - dragon's heads sliding across the auditorium, from the ceiling to the floor; smoke belching from factory chimneys - but in the end it doesn't feel like a fully realised piece.

We retrace our steps through a subdued metropolis, punctuated irregularly by groups of folk dressed to party - sparkly skirts, flamboyant shirts, infeasible heels. Overdosed on velour seats and cultured dining, we cross the threshold of domesticity and retire.