In early May we went to London. I feel, in a very tempting fate way, that we have mastered our formula for London visits.

Friday 10 May

We flew out of Dublin about midday (very civilised) and were in our hotel in Soho by about 3. I love the Elizabeth line, the existence of which was brought to our attention by the London relatives. It is a short five minute walk from our hotel (Hazlitt’s where I have now decided that we will stay every time we go to London or until we can no longer afford it).

We went for a wander around the city and, as a special treat to Mr. Waffle, went to the London Transport museum. They had this enormously annoying wheeze where you pay for admission and then you can go “anytime you like” for the next 12 months. I mean, this is not great for a visitor. £25 each to get in but more interesting than you might think. But still.

After that heady excitement, we met Mr. Waffle’s sister and her husband for dinner in this old fashioned but charming restaurant called Rules. Apparently, it’s where Edward VII and Lillie Langtry hung out. And, ideally, also very close to our hotel.

We missed the aurora borealis though. A neighbour posted a picture to the group chat.

Saturday, 11 May

I was slightly worried about Michael being home alone. Daniel was off to the darkness into light walk in the Phoenix Park (a 3.30 am start) and then straight on to Donegal for a weekend away with friends. Spoiler alert: Michael was unphased and quite enjoyed being home alone, I mean, really, don’t we all?

After a sustaining breakfast, Mr. Waffle and I took ourselves to the Sargent exhibition in the Tate Britain which was the (ostensible) reason for our trip. I really loved it and would have recommended it to you except that I think it may now be over.

While we were there we had a more general look around which I really enjoyed but Mr. Waffle was wilting slightly.

We texted Mr. Waffle’s sister for advice on where to go next and she suggested that we get the boat to the Oxo Tower. Boat services are a bit irregular on a Saturday but we were leading a charmed life and one just pulled up shortly after we arrived. It was a lovely trip and I found myself reflecting how much more alive the Thames feels than the Liffey – more like a real artery.

We then strolled along the South Bank in the glorious weather – not too hot, not too cold – and went up to the top of the Oxo Tower where we had slightly overpriced cold meat but never mind the width, feel the quality. What a view. We got to sit outside and look out over the river. I don’t have a good photo of that but I do have this from round the back.

Then, feeling extremely daring, we took the bus back to Soho. You know how unnerving it is to try to take buses as a tourist. Anyhow success attended our efforts and I got to sit upstairs which is delightful anywhere.

We recovered for a bit before going out for dinner in the opera house in Covent Garden. This is another of my sister-in-law’s top tips. Great food -loads of restaurants – and a beautiful view.

Sunday May 12

We got up and had breakfast out; Soho abounds in breakfast opportunities. Then we went to mass at 11. Check out from the hotel was at 12 but what mass would last more than 45 minutes? And does St. Patrick’s in Soho (a five minute walk from our hotel) strike you as the kind of place where they would have a long mass? Well, it turns out – as my ultra Catholic friend told me – that it is well known in traditional Catholic circles; that, my friends, means a long mass. The church was beautifully restored, the congregation were very young, multinational and chic and I felt quite elderly (whereas in Dublin I’m generally the youngest person in the church). There were two charming young women giving out hymn books at the door. Mercifully Ascenscion Thursday is celebrated on the day in England (in Ireland it moves to the following Sunday) so it was not a special mass. Nonetheless, everything that could be sung, was sung, we had a good, but long (quelle surprise), sermon, and it was hard to get out of the church without shaking the priest’s hand which led to a press of people like at a wedding when everyone is congratulating the bride and groom. Mr. Waffle slunk out at 12 (before communion) to check us out of the hotel. I stayed to the bitter end which was after 12.30. Even my ultra Catholic friend said, “How did they make a normal mass last 90 minutes?”, he also said, “You always get the best masses.” Depends on your criteria, I guess. Needless to say, the priest said mass with his back to the congregation and sprinkled water on us and made free with the incense. I lit a candle for herself who was beginning her exams, I can only hope that it is a particularly effective candle. A highlight of the service for me was when an elderly, slightly odd soul in a mechanised wheelchair to which were attached many plastic bags, came zooming up the aisle and had to be chased by one of the nice young women and stopped from reaching the altar.

Happily the hotel seemed unconcerned by our late check out and we left our luggage there and went to visit the Handel Hendrix house, yet another recommendation from my sister-in-law and it does what it says on the tin: it’s where both Handel and Jimi Hendrix lived when they were in London. Fun and nearby. What’s not to love? Though I inadvertently took away their bracelet to open the lockers and Mr. Waffle ran back with it through the toasty streets of London while I waited by the window of the Liberty shop. Look, I had a blister.

Then we took ourselves off to the airport where we had a bite to eat in the Perfectionist restaurant (really pretty good). I enquired of Michael how things were at home.

Him: I’m fine. Studying John Stuart Mill.

Me: Enjoy JSM.

Him:He’s absolutely tearing up the idea of first past the post and advocating for (what we now know of as) the dutch model of all country STV, it’s very enjoyable.

I am pleased that he has chosen to study something which fills his heart with joy.