Sunday 20th September 2015

Saturday

A red letter day for many reasons: 7th wedding anniversary, open house, International Speak Like A Pirate Day. And the sun shone. And like previous years, we underplanned our day, and so the night before Open House we were still planning a route and buildings to visit. One of the places I really wanted to go was an old cinema in Muswell Hill, but it would have taken two hours, to get up and and back, walk up the hill from the station. And so on the train up to London, we decided to scrub it from the list. In truth there are just so many buildings to visit, it is hard to know where to start. And on top of that, we failed to win any places for the really special buildings in the ballots, which meant the list of buildings looked like it was thick with churches.

We decide to catch the quarter to eight train, which means that we can lay in bed until half six, in fact I think we could have laid in bed for most of the day. I know that a day on the hard streets of London did not fill me with joy. However, once we were up, and sipping from a fresh cup of coffee, we were ready for the day.

A quick drive down the hill to Martin Mill, find a parking space and go tot he platform for the 5 minute wait for the train. It is a glorious morning, not a breath of wind, but the crows and rooks above are making so much noise, something had wound them up. The train was filling up already, of just those who were on board sitting at the seats with a table, which is what Jools and I wanted to do. But, we find a seat, but for me on the wrong side of the train. And we are off, gliding up Martin Mill bank towards the portal of Guston Tunnel and then down to Dover.

The train fills up as we travel towards London: clouds gather as we near Ebbsfleet, maybe there'd be rain before the morning was out? We hoped not, but we both had coats, but I think we would be more likely to be carrying them before the morning was out. St Pancras was heaving, really busy with the normal mix of people, but lots of French rugby supporters milling around, wearing berets and striped t shirts: I kid you not. But we were on a mission, to head to the back of the station to the Italian place where we would have breakfast. We both have the cooked breakfast, which is fine, but not really very Italian, but then you can't fry pasta. Or can you?

That done, we walk down onto the underground station to catch a train to Bank, where our church odyssey would begin. It was madness down there with the platorm fll, we make our way to the far end where there was less people, and even manage to squeeze on the train. Three stops later, we get off and make our way to the surface, and from there it is a short walk up Cornhill to St Michael's. And, it is open!

The church is an arched Wren designed one, with an eggshell blue ceiling, and is wonderful. It also has many memorials and some fine glass. In addtion the wardens are really welcoming, and point out items of interest. They also give us a list of the churches that would be open, but looking at the list we see that St Peter, just up Cornhill would be closed. We walk up just in case, but find the doors locked, and it looking a very dispiriting place from outside. But as I had not expected it to be open, I was not downhearted. Next on the list was St Mary at Hill, another church that is always locked, but according to the list would be open from ten to five. Needless to say it was locked. It had taken half an hour out of the day to get here, only to find it shut fast, not good.

We consult the list and go to a series of other churches, even ones I have been to before, but find them all closed. All this time we can hear the bells of St Magnus the Martyr, and as we find ourselves walking along Lower Thames Street, and I know Jools has not been inside, so we do call in. It is very busy,that is partly down to the fine model of Old London Bridge, as the approach to the bridge used to run outside the church doors.

I lived in hope that St Benet's would be open, but deep down I guessed it would be closed. And it is, however it was on the walk down towards Blackfriars. I had arranged to meet a friend from GWUK at The Black Friar at one; it was only twelve fifteen, but it was warm, we had been carrying our coats since we left St Michael's, and so we needed some liquid refreshment. I have a pint of brown ale, Cleveland Brown, which is a fine pint. We sit in the corner and watch a stream of people arrive.

Just before one, Graham arrives, buys me a second pint, so despite this being the first time we had met, it was like meeting an old friend, which I guess is the modern thing. Another GWUKer, Jim arrives soon after, and we are all squeezed around a tiny table, but chatting away fine, and like old friends.

The joint plan was to go to Temple, to visit Middle Temple Hall, which should have been open. Famous last words. So, we walk to the gate into the calm that is Temple, only to find they are really doing so much this year, buildings open everywhere, and so many visitors. We see that Lower Temple Hall is open, so we go in and wander round the halls, which are decorated by paintings of old judges and lawyers. A short walk away is Middle Temple Hall.

Middle Temple Hall is much older than Lower, and is topped by a glorious roof which is visible in the main hall. It is stunning, and so much history, but it is also so very busy. Jools and I decide to split and make our way into Soho, where I had hoped to see inside St Barnabas, a house for the poor. We bid our new friends goodbye, and walk down to Embankment and along to Temple Station, from there is was just a few stops to Tottenham Court Road. Up on street level, it is chaos; a new Crossrail station is being built, there are cranes everywhere, the road narrowed to a single lane and the pavement not wide enough for all the people walking.

We consult the A-Z and find our way to Soho Square, where the House of St Barnabas is located, and we find it, if not locked, then it clearly is not open. It was now half three, getting onto four maybe, and we were hungry, We should find somewhere for lunch/dinner. We walk back into Soho and find a nice small Mexican place. We go in and order beef fahitas and frozen Margaritas, which all go down well, but we go manage to spill juice and sauce down our shirts, just as well we are to go home now. The fact is, although we are no tired as such, we have had enough of the crowds, so we stand on the main road and flag down a taxi to take us back to St Pancras. I am sure the taxi was powered by the driver's anger, as he is swearing all the time.

He gets us to the station with 15 minutes before the train was due to leave, it is already waiting, so we climb on board and find a seat near the front. At Stratofd a couple of ladies, a Mother and Daugter sit with us, and they swap stories about the shopping they had done, and the money spent. They seemed happy with their day, and us with ours. We flash through Essex and back into Kent, getting back to the car in 70 minutes is really a joy and a relief.

Back home the cats are waiting, we feed them, make a coffee and try some of the 90% dark chocolate we have. It is bitter. Very bitter. We only have once square each. There is glorious light outside as the sun sets, smoke from a bonfire drifts in the still evening air.