My voyage back through the landmarks of my life

I was looking forward to my dinner at Daquise in South Kensington, a Polish restaurant that’s been there for ever yet feels curiously up-to-date; but that wasn’t until 7.30. I’d finished my afternoon’s work, I’d brought in the washing and written two thank-you cards, and it was still only five o’clock.

I hate hanging around. By Tube to South Ken is only half an hour — so what to do? ‘Why not go the long way, on foot and by river?’ I thought. My flat is by the Thames in east London, so I could walk along the river to the Canary Wharf jetty and hope for a river bus to Chelsea. I once heard Boris Johnson advise a mayoral candidate for a foreign city not to bother about public transport by river because it was a waste of money and time, but I don’t agree. River-buses plying between east London and the City and West End pass my flat all day, often packed; it’s a lovely way to go, and can be quite fast. And it’s different.

A brisk walk to Canary Wharf and — yippee — there was an Uber Riverbus due in five minutes, going all the way to Kew. With my pensioner’s freedom pass the fare was about £5, I would alight at Cadogan Pier, and walk through Chelsea to South Ken.

I boarded, found a free seat outside at the stern (no need for a mask) and settled in as we headed out into the river against a fierce ebb-tide.

An unfamiliar mellowness settled upon me. No rush, for a change; no anxious purpose to the evening. Come to think of it, no anxious purpose to my life any more. I turn 72 next month and will probably (God, and editors, willing) carry on writing for a couple more years, and hope to keep up my own self-imposed standards in my work.