To breakfast ...

... or not to breakfast: that was the question:
Whether 'tis sensible to go for the 1pm performance at the Globe on an empty stomach and suffer
The tummy rumbling slings and arrows of outrageous hunger
Or to grab a bacon butty before the play began.


We opted for brekkie at a brand new hotel in town called the Mondrain . I had an ulterior motive - it was where I once worked for LWT in the entertainment department . We called it the Pink Palace and I loved every minute . Otherwise known as Sea Containers House , it's now been completely remodelled into a beautiful hotel. Well worth a peek , especially as they have a Curzon Cinema in house where you can bring in your Bloody Mary from the outrageously trendy bar to sip whilst you view the latest Art House movie. Beats a luminous blue slushy any day.

Breakfast, or rather Brunch as it was billed, was a fabulous affair - everything you could possibly imagine in a lavish buffet spread, best view in town of St Paul's and a ringside seat for the London Marathon whose runners were sweating their way along the embankment on the other side of the river whilst we scoffed our way through the French pastries.

Off then to the Globe for The Merchant of Venice . This was my idea of indelibly implanting the plot, characters and key quotes on youngest son's brain in time for his Eng Lit exam in a fortnight . Hope it works, although I fear he'll remember more about the pidgeon that pooped within a codpiece's width of us . If I were a pidgeon I think I'd opt for the Globe as my residence too . Richer pickings than the pavement-trodden MacDonalds fries elsewhere in the capital.

Last highlight of the day was renting a Boris bike for the ride back to Waterloo Station. Parting was such sweet sorrow but I feel we may be back before long if only for another shot at brunch.