When a restaurant such as The Ivy claims that it hasn't changed in 30 years, this is no doubt considered to be a very good thing. Not so La Ballerina on Bow Street, but a plie from The Royal Opera House. Featuring Liszt wearing white tinsel, 100 bobbing ballerinas hanging from the ceiling and louvered grey and pink doors, we chomped our way through our 'Italian' food and a bottle of Prosecco. The door to the loo like something from 'The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe', was through a dull grey slatted door. I lost my way, fearing I may never return.

Meanwhile, the rest of London seemed to be getting on quite well with Christmas. For the first time in a few I walked through Covent Garden's Apple Market to pause briefly at the brick-tossing man, before heading south to the Strand at The Coal Hole. Chicago was brightly lit opposite, with queues already building. Villers Street by then was packed with middle-aged men in paper hats, swaying gently, blaming it on the Thames tide no doubt.