Surprise St Paul's

Wednesday

Once home from my walk, I packed, made sure my camera batteries were charged, made sure my ticket was in my wallet, looked at the TFL website for the best route to the cathedral on the tube, and gernerally got myself ready for when Gary came along ready to head to the station to catch the train.

As I have said before, its just a short drive to Martin Mill, with ample free parking, which I am sure we will soon have to pay for when they realise we are doing this. However, for now, free parking, and we get to sit in the warm afternoon sunshine, waiting for our Japanese built train to zoom us into London. Even with it being delayed ten minutes did not seem to matter, just nice sitting there, watching the birds.....

The train arrived, and we found seats together, and so began the much familiar, for me, trip into London along HS1. Although, I would be travelling all the way into St Pancras, not just getting out at Statford. Change can be good.



We get off, and walk to the taxi rank; I realised we were so laden down with gear, that a hike on the Underground might not be for the best, so a taxi ride along the Grays Inn Road and into Holborn seemed a very good idea indeed. We were dropped off round the back from St Paul's, paid nine quid for the fare, then we had to decide what to do for the next three hours. Well, we wander round Paternoster Square, marvelling at the views of the cathedral. Hmm, nearly four, maybe we should have a cuppa? In the square we find a sandwich place that will make us tea even though they are really trying to clean up and go home. We sit outside, watching the world go by, sipping tea and munching on gooey flapjacks. I've had worse afternoons.



Now what to do? Well, walk over the Millennium Bridge, have a look in Tate Modern? OK.

Which is what we do. From outside the cathedral, the bridge looks like a river of humanity, hundreds if not thousands of people, walking either way. When we get on it, seems to be goups of tourists being marched from one attraction to another, with The Tate and the Globe next door being on the list I guess.

We sit outside The Tate and people watch. A proper mix of people, all races and languages seen and heard. Insode they are preparing for the next installation in the Turbine Hall, so nothing to see there.Other than me in day glo tabbards and lots of scaffolding. Maybe its going to be an artist hole in the ground?



Maybe not.

We walk back over the bridge and sit opposite where we guess the event attendees, including us, will get into the cathedral. With an hour to go, we spot the first other photographer, with bag and tripod. Tripod, oh yes. I have my 1980s, aluminium 200lb monster with me. God I hate it, it means I have to carry a second bag, and i can have both on my back, so one is always carried meaning my shots are one handed. I get hot, and angry with it, threatening to throw it in the bin. But I will need it later.

We join the queue with half an hour to go, about ten from the front, and soon there are maybe a hundred behind. To our surprise, they open the doors early, and we are allowed in; some run, like opening of the winter sales at Harrods. I am struck dumb by the spleandour all around. The Glory of God had come down from heaven, and I'm not religious.

I go round with my 50mm, getting shots before the light faded, tried with the wide angle, but I guessed, correctly as it happened, that I would need the tripod. So, round and round we went, battling with all the other photographers. Trying to get the classic shots, trying to get something unusual. I like to think I did both. The glory of St Paul's was everywhere, and all around were the tombs and memorials of the great and good. In the crypt, the tombs of the legends were there: Duke of Wellington, Horatio Nelson and many other lesser know and lesser people. It was awe-inspiring.



Back in the main body of the cathedral, the light is fading fast. I grab some last minute shots and we are ready to go. I look at my watch, we have 40 minutes to get to the station to catch the train back. Outside we flag a taxi down and he gets us to the station with quarter of an hour to spare. We have time to head to M&S to grab a snack and a drink before going up the the platform and claiming a set with a table and a window that matched the seating.



Job done, the train filled up, we ate and had our drink. But we spoke little, we were both worn out, but we got our shots, and so just watched the inky blackness of the tunnels then the south Essex marshes slide by. The train emptied at each station, until we were the only ones left in the carriage was we glided out of Dover Priory for the last leg upto Martin Mill.

Gary dropped me off, there was time for a cuppa with Jools before bed, no time to even look at my shots. They would be there in the morning, and a proper review would take more than an hour. Plenty of time for that.