It is right and proper that our last days in London are straight out of some 19th century novel of manners (and summertime).  The sky is high and blue, the privet blossoms so fragrant the roses are fighting for attention.  Every flower is blooming, the boxwood is such a deep green it is nearly blue and the hollyhocks (hollyhocks, in a city!) are waving like fly fishing poles in the breeze.