It was the 10.49am train to London that we boarded – and once on it, my mother wanted to sit in the quiet zone, so when the train next moved, absolutely nothing was audible from the 4 other people in it; the train driver seemed to like hooting the horn a lot, the windows were very mucky, the very well spoken (female, mid 50s, and very upper class sounding) robot announced Banbury was about to be arrived in – which it was at 11.07am – and a big advert for a book was on a wall, saying (with big letters) ‘THIS KILLER HAS GOT INSIDE HARRY HOLE’S HEAD. NOW HE’S COMING FOR YOU’. A station with signs I thought said Kings Sutton on got whizzed through several minutes after that, and the robot told everyone what they should alight at Bicester North for, it was stopped at at 11.23am, and I was silently shown a picture of an elephant in the magazine Mum was reading.

A bloke on the seat across the aisle was poking his laptop with his mouth partially open, I noticed the woman opposite him (clearly in no way associated with him) who was wearing sandals – had absolutely revolting feet that were exceptionally knobbly and squ-iff and seemed to be unable to uncross her right big toe with the one next to it; and then I was shown a photo of a plainfin midshipman fish, and a very close up photo of the end of an elephants trunk – both in the magazine shown to me earlier. Princes Risborough got whizzed past, followed by Saunderton, the man in the seat behind Mum appeared to be knitting something lilac coloured and concentrating very very hard on it when Banbury was reached, and her attempting to leave the zone showed the doors were not reliably opening. Beaconsfield was passed just before 12pm, then another station I couldn’t see the name of, followed by Gerrards Cross, another one, West Ruslip, Ruslip Gardens, Sudbury Hill Harrow, several more, and Wembley Stadium at 12.13pm; and then some dark tunnels, and arrived at London Marylebone at 12.22pm (and the well spoken robot told everyone the ‘see it, say it, sort it’ advice again).

Then Mum got agitated while poking an underground ticket machine for me, an American woman stood nearby said ‘are these metro tickets?’, we boarded a Barkerloo Line train at 12.34pm, and got to sit down (which startled me).

An advert for the dating app Tinder said something about a toothbrush on it, and at Regents Park a massive lift was gotten into, and up out in the sun, Park Crescent was walked along, a busy road was crossed, and I noticed a sign about pollution being high today, Park Square East seemed to be the wrong place and Mum started marching off down the road, and I was following while trying to write and photograph. Portland Place had what looked like a café for cats and owners on it, and finding the place irritated her increasingly, she eventually stuck her hand in the air and stopped a taxi, and that and it’s very traditional looking and sounding driver (and his sat nav) found the Astor Court Hotel (which certainly did not have an entrance that could in any way be called visible – and the driver said he’d been in London for 30 years and he’d never noticed it).

Luggage was dropped off, we got back in the cab, I noticed a wall on Duke Of Wellington Place said Australia on it, and we got to Sloane Square station, and a group was gathering in front of a woman wearing a green badge with ‘Green Badge Tourist Guide’ on it (and a Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea toilet was very close by).

She said she had allergies and would be coughing a lot, and that Hans Sloane (born in 1660 in Ireland) is who all the Sloane Streets and Avenues are named after, he bought a Manor in Chelsea for £50000 in 1712, died in 1753, and his vase collection was split between the British Museum and the nation.

We were all led off down Holbein Place, I heard several American accents (repeatedly saying ‘like’) amongst the group, and stopping in Holbein Mews led to the tour guide talking about the River Westbourne and how it now flows underground, how and why the Romans originally named London and the bits of it as they did (Chelsea was explained in a lot of detail but I forgot it). Holbein Mews led to Lower Sloane Street, Turks Row, and Sloane Court East (and on that road all the houses had cellars). The woman said lots more about Chelsea and everything in it, the Chelsea Barracks being closed in 2008 and moved to Woolwich, and the Chelsea Barracks being bought by the owner of Harrods, residential houses in the area costing around £1.6 million, and something (I forgot what) being renamed the Gucchi Ghetto. The Royal Hospital Road, the hospital and The Margaret Thatcher Infirmary were pointed out; and further along was somewhere with a sign saying ‘Royal Hospital Chelsea – Home of The Chelsea Pensioners’ outside it. Queens Road was continued down, with Burton Court opposite the hospital, and Ormonde Gate got turned down and crossed, and then Christchurch Street (and the woman started talking about boroughs and the different types of them) (and then about postcodes) (and Laurence Olivier). Tite Street (where it seemed people lived in cellars – as well as in the houses) – which continued after crossing Great Hospital Road – had the house that a doctor called Lord Haden-Guest lived in on it, and a brief explanation of the different bricks used was given; and at the end of that, the River was reached (and by that point 1 of the American people had asked if I was recording this to become a Guide) and I couldn’t hear much of what was being said due to traffic noise.

Turners Reach House was passed, and then Swan Walk was turned down, and the Chelsea Physic Garden got stopped by (and the guide mentioned that the cafe in it does – and quote – ‘a mean Victoria sponge’, and that the earliest physic garden in the world was built in 1608 in Oxford).

Then Cheyne Place led to Cheyne Walk (which I noticed was right next to Flood Street) where George Elliott died (and the buildings are Grade 1 Listed) – and that house had a big stone bird statue outside. Another building had a stone statue of a couple of kids doing acrobatics, further down was a house that had been owned by the richest man on the planet between dates I forgot; and just before Oakley Street (with a slightly odd dolphin statue on it) was a really fluffy dog being cuddled by a man getting into a car, Cheyne Mews, and a Chelsea Truck Company place (and I walked directly in to a pole).

A lot about someone called Carlye that I forgot was said, a stop outside another church was made, then Old Church Street was crossed – into a (what a tiny sign termed) garden (I was told it was Roper’s Garden), and a very tattooed woman lying on a towel on the grass in her underwear was talking to her phone. Then the guide said a lot I couldn’t hear due to traffic noise, pointed at a house where Thomas Moore lived and said Thomas Moore is the patron saint of Dukes and Lords; and that was it, it was 3.55pm and the woman was applauded. After that, The Perfect Bottle and The Chelsea Pig were passed by Mum and I before somewhere (that could be described as a cake bar) called Peggy Porschens got stopped in – and while in there I spotted beetroot lattes on the menu, a cake labelled as ‘Coral Atoll’ on top of the counter, and books called ‘A Year In Cake’ for sale (and a slice of dark chocolate truffle cake was consumed by both of us).

The back of my neck had sweat dripping off it, it was sometime I forgot when we moved, and Kings Road was walked upon – following the ‘keep going straight’ directions of a very traditional looking and sounding cabbie we’d asked – while schools were clearly beginning to exit, and the rush hour traffic was building on the roads, and Evening Standards were out for grabbing. The tubes were the usual baked bean can consistency for the time of day, Beavertown Beer was an advert on the tube walls, and as it had reached peak time, my ticket didn’t want to work when we reached the other end, so I dashed through the barrier and got whacked by it, grabbed a paper, and then out on the street, rush hour was in full flow, so getting a cab took a while. The one we did get was another very traditional looking and sounding London cabbie; and we were back at the hotel at about 5.40pm: there were ‘sanitised pens for registration’ on the reception counter and a TV showing the BBC News channel behind it, a form had to be signed, and up in the room I put my skirt on.

It was 6.13pm when we left again – and Mum started waving her arm around to hail another cab once outside, 1 driven by another very traditional London cabbie stopped about 7 minutes later, somewhere called Casa Matilde had a big octopus sculpture over its door, and we made it to The Landsdowne Club a bit late (I forgot the exact time) for the charity gathering we’d been invited to.