A couple of days ago, me and my friend ventured from Walthamstow to the City to watch a case at the Old Bailey. Naturally, we didn’t plan properly and ended up reaching the city late – mostly because we are cheapskates: we took the bus to save money and got off halfway through the journey to buy drinks from the 99p store. (Penny savers can I get a whoop whoop?)
As we neared the city, we made the impromptu decision not to go to the Old Bailey and decided instead to venture to the Museum of London (because we’re indecisive like that). There, we read timelines on Greek and Roman history (none of which I remember) and we made sure to take photos of me in the cheesiest poses imaginable. (See below for evidence).
After 30 minutes of walking, we came to a timeline which was my favourite part. On it listed the landmark dates of London and the milestones it faced. The Great Fire of London (which ironically had its 150th anniversary not too long after), the reign of the Prince of Orange, the start and end dates of WWI and II and the partition of India into Bangladesh and Pakistan. It was all fascinating to say the least, but my favourite part had to be spotting the ominous poem written by Benjamin Zephaniah about the dynamic nature of London and its people.
I also spotted some cool Roman coins and a painting of which I do not know the painter. (Excuse the Snapchat symbol in the top right hand corner, I am a novice to this life)
After getting this far in the museum, my friend and I decided to retreat and make our way to another venue. Upon exit of the museum… guess who we saw? None other than my spying father! No seriously… we saw my dad.
Fear not, my dad is not a stalker. He works across the street from Museum of London and just so happened to be on his lunch break so it was all a coincidence. After a quick greeting and au revoir, my friend and I proceeded to go to One New Change – the mall in Cheapside for an idealistic peruse. We then proceeded to circle St Paul’s Churchyard a few times and get ourselves lost before boarding a bus for our next adventure.