Spinning a yarn

My daughter takes me to places I would otherwise never go. Last Friday, on a sadly predictable grey and miserable afternoon in North London we arrived, somewhat circuitously, at what looked like an outpost of London zoo, a concrete bunker replete with iron railings, a steep ramp and with a pile of crinkly leaves carpeting the entrance.

Somewhat tentatively we made our way inside. ‘Hi Iona, so you have brought your mother with you today?’. Without a hint of embarrassment Iona grinned widely caring less about her mother, and more about the hour or so ahead. Continue reading