Rotherhithe at Night

Katrin my god-daughter shares a house with two friends not far from the Thames in Rotherhithe, commuting from there to the Treasury where at the start of the year she began working in a department so obscure that even Dr Abacus hadn't heard of it despite working in the same building for many years. Monday was my first chance to see her since she started. She took me for a meal at the Mayflower, a clambering old hostelry overlooking the river which plays on almost certainly non-existent connections with the Pilgrim Fathers and contains the scrapings of several junk shops scattered over the walls, shelves and windowsills. The food was good but it was just as well Katrin had booked. 

Katrin led me around the area pointing out as much of its history as was visible in the dark: a pavilion in the park which had been located in several places before ending up where it was, a former workhouse now inevitably converted into a café, streets on the sites of wharves and docks, one lonely Art Deco building soaring upwards in amongst the converted warehouses and modern developments along a side street. We bought ice cream at her favourite gelateria but were thrown out as they were about to close, and finshed our desserts looking along the river. 'I think this is the best view of the river in London', Katrin said. 'I'm lucky to be here'.