Grey, cloudy, rainy. In reverse order:

The Turners at the Tate Britain, with the Rothko Seagram murals, for hours.

Back and forth across the Thames, each time on a different bridge.

St. Bride's Library as per Paul's directive, to have Liz show me the presses, which might have been missed except that I accidentally stumbled on it while making my way to the water.

Wyvern Bindery, to see "Mark or Nick or Kate, if she's still there." Piles of paper and books and leather and gold. I caught them at lunch: dished the news of New York and Texas, got advice about school, and saw photos of an Ethiopian binding Mark had recently worked on before he kicked me out. One of nine such existing bindings. "You go home and tell Gavin about that," he said.