DRAFT

3:30 a.m. My body, apparently still on a schedule known only to itself, woke me for the third morning running. I then lay there for nearly two hours, staring at the ceiling and composing strongly worded letters to my circadian rhythm. Eventually sleep returned, like a guest who shows up after the party has ended.

Coffee in bed followed, brewed this time with bottled water bought the night before. Lesson learned: London’s tap water is a crime scene, and the bottled stuff is the only witness willing to cooperate. A drinkable cup at last. Small victories.

By 9 a.m. we were out the door, ready for a brisk march to Petticoat Lane Sunday market via the Millennium Bridge, St Paul’s Cathedral, and the Gherkin, which I still refuse to look at without feeling mildly judged. On arrival, one is immediately reminded of Del Boy Trotter, even though Peckham is nowhere near. Lovely jubbly, as they say, but I stayed vigilant for anything that “fell off the back of a lorry.”

Refuelling took place in a tiny Swedish cafeteria, where I ordered coffee and a sausage roll that turned out to be plant-based. A sausage roll with no sausage. A bold choice, and frankly, a plot twist I didn’t see coming. It was tasty, though I remain suspicious.

Then it was off toward Covent Garden, lunch being a non-negotiable deadline. Once we rediscovered St Paul’s (it’s hard to lose, but we managed to make it feel like an achievement), Fleet Street led us neatly into the Strand. We stopped one block short of Covent Garden at Bella Italia. I suddenly fancied pasta, which is the kind of sudden fancy that should always be obeyed. I ordered it, I ate it, I was happy. Next.

From our table we could see the Lyceum Theatre 🎭, where we held tickets for the 2:30 p.m. matinee of The Lion King. Knowing we’d be pinned to our seats for a good 2.5 hours, we took a quick stroll through Covent Garden first. Think of it as pre-emptive stretching for the sedentary marathon ahead.

The verdict on The Lion King? Excellent. The costumes, the scenery, the cast, the music, the songs: all of it thoroughly entertaining. Even from the stalls, the circle of life felt very much in session.

Afterwards we walked back to the hotel to put our feet up and deliberate over the evening’s agenda. Which brings me to the present, where I sit writing these lines and surveying the pub options within a 300-metre radius. Rigorous research, you understand. Choosing wisely is a serious business.

Today’s tally: 9.6 km on foot, one plant-based sausage roll, one plate of pasta, one lion king, and zero hours of decent sleep. Not bad, London. Not bad at all.

Cheers, and see you at Day 4, probably awake at 3:30 again. 🍺