London is not too busy. Slow cooking, slow dancing and slow thinking are all here.
What is the collective noun for a group of teenage friends at the back of a bus? A cackle of passengers? A cru? A shriek? A lurch? A holler?
One Upper Street bar – whose manager was clearly fed up of dodging these blind, lurching things while popping out for a bunch of fair trade bananas – banned couples. And kissing.
We discovered that the rocks were sharp enough to break coconuts easily, as were one dog’s teeth. Perhaps the real mystery of the house with the front ripped off, on such a turbulent island, was why it was the only building in such a state.
The Lighthouse, or Oyster House, is a building of unknown origin and purpose, although theories include an advertising trick for an oyster bar, a helter skelter, camera obscura and a windmill.