Monday 17th May 2010 (part 2)

Inbetween Borough Market and our target lay New London Bridge, the Monument and then the network of mediaeval streets that mark where the City of London begins. Marking the beginning of London Bridge is a huge glass building, called simply No 1 London Bridge, it is a wonderful ix of angles, glass and reflected reflections, and is a photographers delight. I have photographed it on a number of occasions before, but snapped it again as the light was a little different.



We barely glanced at the view to Tower Bridge and as the river snaked eastwards towards the sea, and had our eyes fixed on the cluster of office buildings that marked out the City.
Being a Saturday, the City is just about all closed, even big supermarkets don't bother opening on Saturday, and so walking past huge branches of Marks and Spencer on a Saturday morning, and them being shut tight is odd.
We pass by the Monument, a column built to mark the place where the Great Fire of London is rumoured to have begun in 1666, I stop to snap it and to listen to the bells of the church just below it, St Magnus the Martyr ringing away, sounding for all the world like St Pauls.



Up, then, a side alley and we find ourselves approaching Leadenhall Market, a Victorian covered market, now fancy shops and street cafes cluster under it's wrought iron arches. Like the rest of the City, it is closed, but that is fine for photography, the only thing spoiling it are a few parked cars.



On through the market, and towering above us is the modernity that is the Lloyds Building; finished in 1986, it has all it's pipework and gubbins on the outside, and is finished in what looks like burnished steel, and still looks decades ahead of its time. I have snapped it from all angles, even inside, so I get the usual regulation shots and we walk on, up the alley between it and the next door Willis Building, a graceful curve in the latter making a huge mirror in which Lloyds is reflected.



And over the road up another narrow street, St Mary Axe, to number 30, but there is no need to know it's address, as the Gherkin, or the Baltin Exchange towers above most buildings, and is unmistakeable in it's shape.



With my wide angle lens I get close in and snap, snap away, through it's triangular arches, and up it's graceful lines so that the sky is reflected in it's spiralling triangular windows. It is wonderful, truly.

A coffee shop is open opposite, so we go in for a cup and to pause before deciding where to go next.
We decide soething in the direction of St Pauls and then onto the West End and Soho beyond; it looks a long way on the map, but it's not really. Like we found in Paris, cities are not as big as you think, and so we set out passing tall office blocks, the Royal Exchange, the Bank of England, St Pauls, Fleet Street, the Royal Courts of Justice.



Phew! We stop for a drink in the pub opposite the High Court, I have a pint of mild, which is not too alcoholic; hence the name. And we decide we're getting tired and maybe tramping the streets is tiring, and maybe we've had enough. Looking at the Tube map, and trying to work out which lines are still working at weekends, I decide our best option is to head to Covent Garden and then on the Tube to St Pancras and our 21st century train home to Kent.

But Covent Garden is not a place to just pass through, especially not on a spring lunchtime, with street performers out in force, and huge crowds trying to find a place to eat of just taking in the sights. Outside pubs, crowds of Portsmouth fans get ready for the cup final by trying to make as much beer as possible disappear, and singing, loudly, and gernerally having fun, whilst a couple try to be meanacing. And a lone policeman tries to ask them to 'keep it down.'

I snap a few street scenes, performers and tourists before we reach the tube and are squeezed into lifts and under the streets we go. Onto the platform and a train arrives and whisks us to the Euston Road and St Pancras.

We wait half an hour until the train arrives and then sink into the chairs and wait for us to fly through dark tunnels, across Essex marshlands, under the Thames and through the rolling Kentish countryside to the coast and home; all at speeds of up to 140 mph. Or not, depends whether you believe the train company's bumf.

Back in Dover we got ready for the final exciting event of a great day, the passing of a steam locomotive, and I wanted to go and photograph it because I could. We met my friend Gary, and instead of going down on the footbridge over the line, we went up to the cliffs high above for grand panoramic shots as she steamed into view.

AIl in a minute of so, she had steamed through, and Jools and I went home for dinner of mozzarella and beefsteak tomato slices a glass of red wine; it was great, and a reminder of our honeymoon in Tuscany.