Lucy, under the river and out to the stars

Lucy looks up. On a clear night it is almost the first thing she does outdoors, head tilted, searching for whichever planet the city has left visible. Slender and 163 cm, she has dark brown curls, long and wilful, that refuse most attempts at discipline, and brown eyes with a faraway softness. Her style is coastal and bohemian: loose linen, a long cardigan, a silver ring on almost every finger, flat boots for walking. She smells faintly of coffee most of the time.

For a guest who is tired of being impressive, Lucy is dreamy, artistic and tender company. She speaks gentle, fluent English and has a habit of asking questions nobody has asked you in years. Astronomy is her serious passion; she can find Saturn without a telescope and explain what you are seeing without a single dull sentence. Espresso is her ritual. A run along the Thames path empties her head before the day begins.

Her Isle of Dogs evening starts at Island Gardens, the small park at the southern tip of the island, where Wren's Greenwich lies across the water like a stage set. From there she leads you down the spiral stairs into the Greenwich Foot Tunnel, under the river on foot, and up into Greenwich, where the Royal Observatory sits on its hill above the town. On a clear evening she stops on the embankment, points past the dome and finds Jupiter before the first drink.

Lucy lives in Pimlico, around forty minutes east by Tube and DLR, and is free by day or on midweek evenings. The Isle of Dogs page lists hotels near South Quay and Crossharbour; rates carries the full ladder, and booking confirms her.