London 8th January

After getting ready in the tiny shower, JY and I walked to the Angel tube station and then went our separate ways so that he could attend a weaving guild lecture in South Kensington.  I thought that I would end up spending my whole day going up and down the stairs underground in an effort to avoid closures on the Central Line but in fact I finally got out and made it to Notting Hill Gate for the antiques market in Portobello Road.  It was packed of course, but if you don't go on Saturday, none of the stallholders outside the shops are present, so you just have to do your best and squish in with everyone else.  Everyone else, in this case, being everyone from Spain.  I strongly believe that Spain might be empty just now, because everyone is in London shopping for handbags.

The only thing I purchased was a printer's tray that I thought would be good for button-sorting.  I was strongly attracted to a leather writing box, with bone folder and letter-opener still attached, but I think it probably would have cost about what the whole rest of our trip is costing.  Also, I probably should not have passed up the stilton spoon from the RAF mess, though it was only plate. 

Met JY at Covent Garden at the end of the afternoon, after shivering outside with my flat white coffee and a view of the plaza.

We went to supper at Boswell's, which is really and truly the place where Boswell used to follow Johnson around, although it does not have any 18th century character and is, I strongly suspect, owned by Italians.  Certain Readers will want to know that I had salt cod fish cakes and a treacle pudding.  And we had tea in a big pot, with a little matching pot of extra hot water.

We had tickets to see Les Patineurs and Tales of Beatrix Potter (Royal Ballet) at the Royal Opera House.  We had seen this a couple of years ago, but due to some lack of planning, we had a box on the side of the house, and so there were many bits we missed because they were out of view.  It turns out, it's much better when you can actually see.  The children playing the child mice were charming, and consistently in mousy character even through the curtain calls.  As before, I was especially fond of the "splash" of silver confetti in variegated size that accompanied Jeremy Fisher, and the featheriness of the squirrels' tails.  These pictures are of the inside of the Opera House and are unfortunately not of very good quality because I was trying to be a little less conspicuous by using my camera phone. 

This is the ceiling, which is gilded over a nice duck egg blue.

And a view of the seats above us.  These go all the way around in an oval, and nearest the stage on every level are the boxes, which is what you should get if you want to canoodle instead of watching the ballet.

Also, I should report that, while I was having my coffee, I proved that my disguise was working because I was asked about the Opera House by two Dutch ladies.  I was able to point out the entrance from the plaza, and, noting their confusion, to explain that it looks like the old Opera House from the other side, and also to answer their questions about the restaurants and cafes inside.