Though the yeoman warder has been spicing up his narrative with some really good jokes, it soon becomes obvious we’re walking around a place that has seen many deaths. Caused them, carried them out, hid the bodies and generally kept a seemingly endless supply of death candidates in its thick-walled chambers, some of whom may still be around. As ghosts.
But then, such is life: you do get quite hungry amidst all this death, at the latest after having seen the Crown Jewels and the White Tower. Which is where the café comes in handy: that Sunday, they made me happy with some lovely roasted root vegetables and crisps sans garlic, while my husband’s love for scones with clotted cream and strawberry jam began to develop.
In the evening he had fish ‘n’ chips which I also tried, but then decided my risotto with mushrooms was better. It was actually the best I had ever had. On the South Bank, at the Anchor.
(one of the six obligatory ravens (plus 2 just in case))