Friday 30th October 2015

Thursday

In contrast to the miserable weather of the previous day, Thursday dawned clear and bright. Typical as I was to go home later that morning. I had failed to clean my teeth the night before, therefore it took me some time to realise it was from my mouth that the smell was coming from. Urgh! I showered, cleaned my teeth Cleaned them again, then dressed and after listening to the radio for half an hour, it was the smell of bacon cooking that enticed me down the stairs for breakfast.

Breakfast was the usual mix of cereal and fry up (no egg) and a couple of small cups of coffee. Enough to fire me up for the day ahead. I go back to my room, clean my teeth again, pack and am ready for the scramble for seats on the train. For reasons I have now forgotten, I have decided to book myself on the ten o'clock train, which gives me 90 minutes to waste on the station. I tried to get on an earlier train, but there was no chance, but was assured my seat reservation would be good.

With the latest in the never-ending FIFA revelations, this one being that the hosts of the 2018 and 2022 World Cups were decided before the vote was made, I thought I would buy a newspaper to read some background on the story, as the BBC seems now to be the audio version of a tabloid. I bought the Guardian, and read a few stories, and by the time I am done, there is just 20 minutes before departure time. I had hoped to snap the class 37s, but the centre platforms remained empty, well, empty of locomotives anyhow. I join the crowd waiting at the end of the platform, ready for the barriers to be lifted.

There was the usual rush for seats, but with most of us with reserved seats, we all made our way to our allocated seats, me having a bloody pillar blocking my view, but the large window stretches away, I could see a lot of the passing countryside. It continues to surprise me to see how few people now look out of the windows when they are travelling by train. Most have their eyes on a phone or tablet, so the golden autumnal sights went unseen by most. But not by me.

As we go back down the line to London, we stop at the same station as on the way up, picking up more and more passengers, but despite it being half term, there seems to be seats for everyone. Saying that, we were running more and more behind schedule, three minutes by the time we leave Diss, nine my the time we leave Ipswich and over 15 minutes late by the time we arrive in London. I am not in too much of a hurry, and Jools was to meet me in the concourse, as there was a church with my name on it I wanted to visit. Well, not my name, but St Benet's.

I find Jools and then we make our way down the steps to the Underground station to catch a Circle Line train to Blackfriars. It was busy, but we squeeze on the train. Jools had been in London since seven, wandering around the deserted Docklands before traveling to several bead shops. And Jools was now pooped, and decided to wait on the train station, whilst I walked the couple of hundred yards to the church.

Some City churches seem to be open, if not all the time, then frequently. But others rarely seem to open their doors to visitors. Then there are those who seemingly don't want anyone to see inside their wonderful buildings. Which is more than a shame, really. These houses of God should be for everyone, not just the custodians.

Saying that, I must take another opportunity to thank The Friends of the City churches, and the time given by their volunteers who give up their time to ensure that these are open at least one day a week.

So, in the past two years, I think I have visited all of the churches that they are keyholders for, and so without this fine organisation, I would not have seen inside many of them.

St Benet's is open between 11:00 and 15:00 on Thursdays, and despite wondering whether it would be open as advertised, the greeters assured me it is open each and every Thursday.

St Benet's is unique in that I think I am right in saying that it is the only City Wren church that survived the Blitz undamaged. In which case, Wren would reconise this church, over all others he helped rebuild after the great fire in 1666.

It is now situated tucked in the corner of an off ramp of Queen Victoria Street, and the pedestrian has to walk through an unwelcoming subway to get to the door, which on this occasion was open.

I was greeted warmly, and given a tour of the history of the church, plus tips on visiting other churches. A wonderful visit and a fine church.

I walk back to Blackfriars, and as I climb up to the platform, there is a train waiting, so we dash onto another Thameslink service to St Pancras, and if we were lucky, we would make the twenty to two train, so be home by three. As on Sunday, it rattled under the City, then up through Clerkenwell and into St Pancras. Another dash up to the Southeastern platforms, onto platform 12 and into a carriage, even getting seas round a table on the right side of the train. I was pooped too.

Well, you know the journey back to Dover by now, the countryside looked glorious in the afternoon sunshine. But I felt my eyes drooping.

Once in Dover, we climb into the car and I drive us up Jubilee Way and then along the Deal Road to home. Despite Jools having been out since half four, no cats were waiting for us. I asked if there had been many animals brought in for her whilst I was away: apparently not. Anyway, we have coffee and some chocolate. And I get the chance to review my shots from the three days away, 990 shots, a few not good, but the rest fine. So begins the task of editing and posting.

I put the radio on, and the afternoon passes. One by one the cats come in, and Molly brings me a dead mouse. Bless. She missed me! We have Chinese for dinner, which means no cooking for me of course, which is fine with my tired feet. It comes as no surprise to find we are snoozing whilst watching TV after nine, so we give up and go to bed. Tomorrow is another day.