Having checked out of the apartment (an operation which consisted of no more than saying goodbye to the young lady on the reception desk), we made our way to the bus stop. A succession of three buses brought us to King’s Cross Station where we took a late breakfast at Leon.

After breakfast we crossed the road to St Pancras International Station where we saw Tigger’s nephew to his train. A final bus ride brought us home.

The outing obviously did not go as intended. Spending Saturday afternoon in A&E was not in the original plan. Apart from that, everything went well.

Docklands is not the most entertaining neighbourhood in London but for someone seeing it for the first time it is not without interest, I suppose. Also it has good connections by bus, tube and DLR with other more stimulating districts.

Shall we stay here again in the future? I think it unlikely but you never know!

I took this photo from the lounge window at 6:15.

It looks the same as the one I took yesterday, I know, but it will do as a souvenir of our short stay in Crossharbour.

The water you see is called the Millwall Inner Dock. It connects, unsurprisingly, to the Millwall Outer Dock. From this projects a narrow strip of water that I imagine once led to the Thames but that connection no longer exists, having been built over.

My hand is less painful today and this permits a certain amount of use though I am careful not bend it too much because there is a wound across the back of my hand that had been taped to close it and I don’t want to disturb it.

The bandage is not waterproof which means that I have to keep it dry. In turn, this means I can wash my hands only in a very summary fashion. Once I am home I can wear a kitchen glove over the bandage when water is involved.

Just to complete the picture, I have a bump the size and shape of half a golf ball on my forehead above the right eye with abrasions to this and to the bridge of my nose which is also slightly swollen. You may be unsurprised to know that I avoid looking at myself in the mirror!

The moral of the story is: don’t go around head-butting the pavement as you will be the one who comes off worse.

Once again, I am going to express my admiration for the NHS and my gratitude to its staff. The emergency room was busy but I was treated carefully, without haste and with kindness at every stage.

In a few minutes, we have to pack and prepare to start back to more familiar parts of London where we shall put Tigger’s nephew on his train before making our own way home to Angel.