Oh to be in England....

Hooray!

It's sweet that CW seems jealous -- or possibly envious -- of our pub date. Not everyone can play in our partying league, Cholms.

I know the bloke. He's a wrong'un. A real poodlefaker and general cad.

Was he wearing co-respondent's shoes?

He should be horsewhipped on the steps of his club.

SHOPPING: NOT VERY MUCH FOR US

London was full of people carrying clothing store logo shopping bags. It's true that Primark bags greatly outnumbered the upscale types, but outwardly commerce seemed to be ticking along nicely.

MC and I walked along Oxford St., so she could get an overview of what was there, after an evening in Soho. Many still strolled the sidewalks, and people darted in and out of shops. I wasn't in the market for anything, so by the time we got to Speaker's Corner I felt annoyed by it all.

Primark is quite the phenomenon. MC went back a few days later, got an armful of things she wanted to try on, but became overwhelmed by the crowds and gave up before she could reach the fitting room. A clerk told her to get there first thing at 0900, or late in the evening to avoid the mobs. There's a certain Primark royal blue embroidered dress that MC pointed out to me later on the street, and we spotted four different young women wearing it around town and in Brighton.

We went to Portobello Rd on Wednesday, bought gifts in antique stores and fruit from a woman who called me "Lovey." I'd go back again just for that.

MC eventually bought herself an Arsenal jersey, after carefully choosing her favored team, and some clothes for herself and her sister at various stores. I got my other daughter some earrings at the Tate Britain museum store. Otherwise, we didn't buy too much to bring home.

MC eventually bought herself an Arsenal jersey, after carefully choosing her favored team,><>>>

She is dead to me.

re: shoes.

The men are wearing long narrow square toes.

You know the rules: only north Londoners can back the Spurs.

poodle faker
noun
U.K.
ladies’ man: a man who seeks out the company of women, especially a genteel young man who flatters older women, often for selfish reasons ( dated informal disapproving ).

Oh, dear. I'm afraid you've nailed him.

Oh, dear. I'm afraid you've nailed him.>>>

Rather too often I'm afraid.

John Ruskin had some choice words about Bakewell:

"There was a rocky valley between Buxton and Bakewell, once upon a time, divine as the Vale of Tempe; you might have seen the Gods there morning and evening—-Apollo and all the sweet Muses of the Light—-walking in fair procession on the lawns of it, and to and fro among the pinnacles of its crags. You cared neither for Gods nor grass, but for cash (which you did not know the way to get); you thought you could get it by what the Times calls "Railroad Enterprise." You Enterprised a Railroad through the valley--you blasted its rocks away, heaped thousands of tons of shale into its lovely stream. The valley is gone, and the Gods with it; and now, every fool in Buxton can be at Bakewell in half an hour, and every fool in Bakewell at Buxton; which you think a lucrative process of exchange--you Fools everywhere."

Of course John Ruskin was rather eccentric.

Oh, that opinionated Ruskin. In this case he was right: we did see countryside just pretty much worthy of Apollo and the sweet Muses of the Light.

SUNDAY MORNING AT ST. ETHELDREDA’S

I’d go to St. Etheldreda’s pretty much every week if I lived within commuting distance, just to hear the kinds of things the priest says and how he says them, to be surrounded by that stained glass and listen to the choir. It’s a very peaceful hour.

The old chapel of Bishops of Ely, it’s a Catholic church a couple of blocks west of the Chancery Lane underground stop, on Ely Place, EC1. You won’t find it by standing on Holborn Circus scanning the horizon for steeples and churchlike facades, but must walk up Ely Place and look for a rose window.

It’s one of two buildings left in London from the reign of Edward I, “despite Thomas Cromwell, the Great Fire, neglect, Nazi bombs and property developers” as its website says. www.stetheldreda.com/home.html.
You enter through a side door and down a dark passageway, under the choir loft, into a smallish upper church with a heavy beamed ceiling and a brilliant east-facing wall of stained glass. High relief statues of the English Martyrs line the north and south walls. There are maybe a hundred or two people attending.

The professional choir sings plainsong at 1100 on Sundays, and the mass is said in Latin, so it’s a Medieval experience, but the priest is contemporary and human: dry wit, plummy voice, lovable. His sermon is about Pentecost Sunday and the stage effects of a mighty wind and tongues of fire. My new favorite priest.

Incense is heavy in the air. As we leave, paramedics in the hallway assess a woman who had fainted. I could tell them what the problem is: incense.

I’ll send them my remaining pound notes to help rebuild their organ, which I think has to be dismantled this month, though I prefer the acapella sound they had when we were there.

I need to put St Etheldreda on my London list next time!

Yes, do. It's lovely.

TWO THINGS ABOUT ENGLAND THAT COULD BE IMPROVED, IN CASE ANY OF YOU HAS THAT KIND OF INFLUENCE:

1. Not enough places to discard trash when out in public.
2. Not enough ways to get a quick and free drink of water when out in public, like drinking fountains or bubblers, or those fancy things they have in Paris.

These suggestions are both courtesy of MC.

Next I will discuss Bakewell and the Peak District, as soon as I can decide whether to be truthful or to keep my promise not to make it sound very attractive so as not to encourage further tourism.

The lack of trash can in London/UK was due to IRA bombings back in the late 20th c. People could easily hide bombs in a trash can, which led to the removal of them. Nowadays I see a lot more "see through" trash bags on the streets.

When I lived in London for a year in the early 1990s, there were frequent tube disruptions due to bomb scares, and there was actually an explosion in the City on a Sunday which led to quite a lot of broken glass in one of the highrise office buildings.

That never occurred to me, yk. Really too bad.

I am impressed with how many people from all around the world swirl around and bump up against each other in London, with so much potential for chaos, and yet how it all works. People mostly behave very well as yet more people come from more different places, and without a feeling of repression.

Partly thanks to CW and colleagues, partly to underlying civilized character of the place?

Mainly down to the civilising influence of beer.