Peckham Rye

Out of trendy London City and the Southbank, to a place you could easily mistake for one of the many Afro-American boroughs in New York, especially Brooklyn. Yes, it's Peckham Rye, and I'm here to visit Meg and John's grandkids, Harry, Ted, Milo and of course Havana, Lydia's daughter of Cuban fame.

The atmosphere at Peckham Rye is refreshingly and unconsciously black, and I am immediately seduced by the many delightful shops and even succumb to buying a cheap pair of gaudy moccasins to take home (instead of the expensive Italian ones I nearly bought in Rome!)
Luckily Renie, Jasper's Italian-English wife, is home with two of her littlies, and invites me to wait while she collects Harry, the third one, from kinder. I'll have to juggle my time to see Havana at six as Jasper works till seven.

Before taking the 343 Peckham Rye bus from London Bridge, I had checked in to my Backpackers, St Christopher's in Borough High St. so when I return at ten'ish tonight it would be quick. The front-of-house was very efficient, with an Aussie boy and a Scandinavian girl at the reception, open 24/7, so when I return tonight I'll just collect my bag and take it two minutes away to another hostel building where I will be sleeping, which I hope is more quiet than this one. Breakfast is included, about 30 pounds for the night, but with a four-share! I think I'll forego the breakfast, just sleep and run.
All good, Irene just returned with her beautiful brood.

Milo and Ted