Yes, Greenwich it is, not asteroid 9037 Greenwich, but the old town that is the zero point of Earth’s longitude and time.
We moved here on April 16 but have been out of contact, that is, without internet connection, till today, April 24, the day of the London Marathon.
For that, as you can see, we have grandstand windows. On one side, the runners pour along King William Walk between us and Greenwich University; they double around the Cutty Sark – that tall mass of rigging – and back through central Greenwich. Beside our front door, a band entertains the crowd with jazz, our neighbor Joe on trombone and his friends with trumpet, guitar and drums.
The marathon started from the heath near the Observatory, wound eastward to Woolwich, then back through Greenwich, and is still winding on, to end at Buckingham Palace in the middle of London. The first to come past, about a quarter to ten, were the paraplegic competitors on their tricycles; half an hour later the otherwise disabled, then the elite women, then the elite men, then the great brave Rest in their thousands, still streaming past without apparent end.