Why are so many people pacing briskly toward the riverside? This is what I wonder as I arrive at Luna, a dainty wine bar in an old alleyway at Shad Thames. Has someone fallen in? A cigarette later and I learn it’s down to Tower Bridge, its bascules outstretched to allow the passing of a large vessel. These grand mechanisms of our city never seem to get old.
I had taken a Lime bike to Luna, pedalling past old warehouses and their connecting bridges of steel, rolling bumpily on the jaunty cobblestones of Bermondsey dockland. My cousin lived in these parts 20 years ago, when dark alleys were filled with shady characters and working women. Though Le Pont de la Tour was there by then, serving scallops with bacon and Dover sole. But much has changed in these parts.
