retiredmartin

October 2026. London.

We’re based in Rye for Autumn, though it feels like Summer, with me whizzing up and down the road and rails to see Dad and keep up with the post (mainly about Powers of Attorney, inevitably).

We stayed in Whittlesford just north of Cambridge, with a fast enough line into Liverpool Street from outside the hotel.

Mrs RM stayed behind with fast WiFi and Gypsy tart while I walked a bit of east London.

COVID may have made The City a bit quieter during the week, but the weekends are ridiculously busy, European families coming to play “Spot the Gherkin” and wondering why the Aldgate Tap is closed on Sundays.

From Liverpool Street to Whitechapel to the Tower, your free open air museum.

One of the joys of getting a new Beer Guide every September was the autumnal walk through the old City, beating the suits to a perch in an ancient pub you’d somehow missed on countless previous visits.

Perhaps more trade for coffee shops than cask these days in EC3, but most tourists are just gawping, and with London better for pedestrians than at any time in its history who can blame them.

Obviously Americans have been warned that the capital is the most violent place on earth, and indeed in 1381 Tower Hill was not a place you’d want to be.

But in 2026, the most terrifying thing is the price of a pint in our next pub.