A few days of theatre and museums. Not quite without some unease, I confess – but going all the same, because to cancel would feel like a very wrong thing to do…

So… some Shakespeare at the Globe, the Rose, a musical, the Museum of London,  and then we’ll see.

Meanwhile, let’s have Louise Imogen Guiney’s Lights of London, shall we?

The evenfall, so slow on hills, hath shot

Far down into the valley’s cold extreme,

Untimely midnight; spire and roof and stream

Like fleeing specters, shudder and are not.

The Hampstead hollies, from their sylvan plot

Yet cloudless, lean to watch as in a dream,

From chaos climb with many a sudden gleam,

London, one moment fallen and forgot.

Her booths begin to flare; and gases bright

Prick door and window; all her streets obscure

Sparkle and swarm with nothing true nor sure,

Full as a marsh of mist and winking light;

Heaven thickens over, Heaven that cannot cure

Her tear by day, her fevered smile by night.