I shall make a note to myself in respect of London on a Sunday. Nothing opens till twelve. Or eleven thirty if the shop is thirsty for customers. With a raw wind and old trainers, my feet were frozen, destroying any good that a Craghoppers parka may have had. And when the cold creeps in, it takes some hours to counter.
Just a cold Sunday walking round London, regretting the coffee. Nothing more uncomfortable than coffee on a windy day, that would be two hours after the cafe.