Monday 20th September 2021 (part 2)

I had tickets for a self-guided tour of King's College Chapel, the first slot of the day, meaning there should be few people about, at least at first.

The ticket said not to try the front entrance, but go down a narrow lane, then turn left and wait at the gate. This route was along old if not ancient cobblestone lanes, past impossibly old walls and a multi-sided sun dial set into a hexagonal tower, round the corner and there was the gate, with a Japanese couple waiting in front of me. From inside the chapel, the sound of an organ being put through its paces.

Half ten came round and a guy came out with a clipboard. Despite booking online and having gone to the trouble to configure my work e mail so I could have a copy of the ticket, he just ticked our names off the list, and we were allowed to go in.

My friend, Simon, says that KIng's College Chapel is where the modern idea of Christmas came from. Certainy the Christmas Eve service, once the shops have closed, is the start of many's Christmas, as close to a church as most will get.

Buildings aren't supposed to create an emotional response, and yet as the wonder of the space came on me like a tidal wave, I could feel teard=s welling up from deep inside. There isn't a more perfect buidling, one made of stone, that appears to be made of light. So delicate, no obvious supports for the wall of the ceiling, dozens of yards above our heads.

Although the building as a whole is breathtaking, the details are even more so. THere was the most delightful hand painted glass in each side chapel, each one a discovery and me unsire as to what I would find. Flemish Roundals as well as panels showing coronations or the Passion.

In the centre is the rood, if that is what it is, a divide several yards wide, and on top of that is the organ which we heard earlier. It was being played once again, the notes filling the open spaces, more open as all chairs had been removed.

At the far end, the altar in no chancel, but a large Rubens looks out onto the church, another passion, but it looks small in this space.

I walk back up the church, then out into the open air to walk round the grassed area to the bridge over the Cam, to muster my thoughts and to get some exterior shots.

Punts glided past, passengers wrapped up in the cool weather. I take their pictures.

I walk to the exit and walk back to the main street, and turn right again to wander further along to see if there were other churches that might be opn. St Botolph was closed, and would remain so for my stay, I walked on and came to St Mary the Less, set back slightly and I would imagine seldom visited.

And I would have been right, except that one of George Washington's forebars has a memorial inside, and so is well visited from The States.

I talk to the trainee(?) Priest(?), who was checking her notes about what to do before the service at half twelve could begin.

I had already seen it, but she said the church was "high", which I have no isses with. But apart from the Washington memorial, there is only a little else of interest, but the building itself sits together well as a whole, but with a handful of parishners arriving, I take my leave of the young lady, and I hope the service went well.

I walk quite further on, but no more churches, so I double back, and my weary feet took me to the Loch Fyne restaurant, as much to rest as eat, but with 9,500 steps done, I felt I had earned it.

I order smoked salmon to start with followed by cod and double fried chips, which was very good indeed, and my mouth just watered again with just the thought of it. I also have a large glass of white wine, which went down well.

I walked back to King's, to see if the two churches were open: they were not, so with my footstap total now nearing 13,000 I began to walk back to the hotel. Crowds had built, but it wasn't that bad to be honest, and at the bridge near the hotel, people were rustling up business for punting tours I said I would think about it the next day.

I was footsore by the time I got back to the hotel, and the climb up three floors was the icing on the cake. Once back I had a shower and put the kettle on.

The internet was still slow, but I could live with it, I wrote and posted a blog, posted some shots, while outside the sun sank and the light turned golden. My feet said that we were going nowhere. So I put the radio on and had another brew, called Jools, who told me her boss is ill and she had been called into work, so her week off is in tatters.

I say I'll go back a day early, so she'll have cooked meals when she gets home from Wednesday.