Chickens on the street of London . . .

Well, not quite.

I went to the big smoke for a hen-do, had lunch in the Oxo tower, where a fly-past of a variety of illustrious planes, including the Red Arrows had been laid on for the hen. Or it may have been connected with Trooping the Colour. We're still unsure . . .




Then we headed into three big cabs, headed across the city to an afternoon of bowling and karaoke. Our cabbie got a bit lost, despite the sat nav telling him which was to turn and the postcode logged in. But we made in and a good time was had by all, especially, and most importantly, the sweet and lovely hen herself.

This is what karaoke in a dark room on a Saturday afternoon looks like . . .




Then another expensive cab ride back to the station, down Oxford Street (briefly), past Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament,




skirting Buckingham Palace (which still had a lot of tourists outside, faces against the railings, even though it was gone six in the evening), and then briefly lost (again) at Waterloo, before a slow return train trip to the sedateness of non-capital life . . .