I love London. There isn’t a city I love more – not sure if Norwich is counted, as that’s home. Wink and I enjoyed our day. Splendidly comfortable new trains, right on time. The only fly in the ointment was trying to register for the app to pay to park the car. I’d tried from home the night before, but it proved impossible and it was no better at the car park. Luckily, Wink had already registered (with equal trouble – she’d missed her train and had to take the next one, last time) and so she paid.

It was one of those days when the train came in as you arrived on the underground platform, every time. I trotted behind Wink, who still, after all these years, retains some of her London Ways – though she didn’t note the side turning to the Central Line, hidden by tape and bollards, so I did have my uses. We changed, got off at Piccadilly Circus and walked to the Royal Academy in a chilly drizzle, to have coffee and warm up before our appointed visit to the exhibition. Two exhibitions in fact, one before lunch by black artists from the American South, in the post-slavery, segregation days and the other of Spain and the Hispanic World. Remarkable and very interesting, both of them, in very different ways.

We didn’t move from the RA for our lunch, but ate at the Spanish tapas restaurant and had the most fabulous waitress I’ve come across in a while. She’s Romanian and her name is Anka (I’m afraid I don’t know the spelling) and she was delightful and really, really professional. I’ve never been a waitress, but I know about the catering trade. She’s the sort of person who sees everything, knows when someone wants more food or the bill or just a clean napkin and, even if she’s on her way with a plate of food, will be right there as soon as she’s delivered it.

Then we pottered over the road to Fortnum’s and I bought a few things for Weeza and Al’s birthdays next week, then to Hatchards, where I bought birthday cards, plus a book for myself. We’d had a chat and a laugh with the assistant at Fortnum’s and the woman on the bookshop till was also delightful. She saw my choice of book – “Persian Fire’ by Tom Holland and asked if I liked his work, which I do (I might never have read any before, it wasn’t a daft question). She asked if I’d heard his podcasts, which I haven’t, so I said I’d look them out.

On the way back, a kind young woman offered her seat to Wink, whereupon a man insisted on me taking his. I know it indicates our great age, but the kindness and courtesy of Londoners is wonderful. And we had a very nice dinner at a restaurant right by the station. It’s also a wine shop and deli and, I’m sorry to say, it’s called Eataly. And so home, where eCat gave us a very warm and slightly anxious welcome, and to bed.