After three days of fantastic hospitality in Bath we make for the bus to London, having been told that it departs at 8:45am and it would be no problem buying a ticket off the driver.

We turn up at the bus station bright-eyed and bushy tailed fifteen minutes early, only to be told by the Grumpiest Driver in England ‘You’re too bloody late, tough luck. We’re full anyway.’ Slightly taken aback, we make to walk away, thinking we’ll just settle for the train, which is slightly more expensive but the only alternative.

Seeing that we weren’t going to cry and beg, the Grumpiest Driver in England then calls after us - ‘Well, go on then - only if you’ve got the right change.’ We clamber up onto the bus to find that only about four seats on the whole thing are taken, but even so, the Grumpiest Driver in England spent the whole trip glaring at us in his rear-vision mirror.

In London, we set off on a quick monopoly board tour - Trafalgar Square, Piccadilly Circus, the Strand etc. London is a little bit depressing for two reasons - one is the horrible discrepancy between rich and poor: you can see how fabulous life would be if you were a member of the snooty uppercrust (not so much for people living in the real world though).

The other is the goriness factor, which ranges from high to extreme. We walk past a good four pubs called ‘The Hung, Drawn and Quartered’, and even take a tour of the Clink jail (because it’s cheaper than seeing a West End musical). After an hour of chastity belts and graphic representations of torture for women, such as ‘gentle’ stretching with the limbs tied to horses going in opposing directions, we’re relatively shaken and ready for some calm inside the Tate Gallery of Modern Art. Instead, we manage to fall asleep on the grass outside it for a good three hours, and by the time we wake up it is closed.