When you don't care about the Rosetta Stone

Walking back to our flat tonight, Lee asked me if we could be done with museums. I held his soft, pudgy, four-year-old hand and looked down at his wispy toddler hair. I’m not sure if Errol had other plans, but I told him yes. He could be done with museums. More London playgrounds to discover tomorrow.

Running off their picnic lunch at Bloomsbury Square.