Saturday 5th October 2024

Saturday.

The weekend.

Let's get out there.

We had a day up in that London planned, so up earlier than usual, and Jools earlier than me. And as I lay in bed, I heard the car start and go up the drive as she went to Tesco for when it opened at six.

I got up, washed up and tidied up so that when she came back, I put the shopping away while she had a shower and was ready to leave so to catch the 07:46.

Parking at the station, we went to Buffers café for sausage and bacon rolls, and eat them on the station platform while we wait for our steed to whisk up up to London.

The train was fairly busy, seems to be NFL weekend, and we saw hundreds of folks in most team's colours, many of which were of Minnesota Vikings, who must be playing. We finished our drinks on the train, as the Kent countryside slipped by.

At St Pancras, Jools went to Oxford Street to go to Liberty's for some buttons, and I caught the Northern Line south to Bank and Monument.

Thus allowing me to catch the illuminated curve passageway leading to King's Cross Square.

A Northern Line train was pulling in, pushing the air in front of it before stopping. Doors opened, and I found a half empty carriage, and settled into a seat for my four stops to Bank.

Northern Line is deep tube, so at Bank there are two consecutive sets of escalators leading to the surface. I snap the second as I was the only one about.

The escalator spat me out at Cannon Street, which is pretty near where I wanted, so I walked along to where the turning past The Monument is, past NFL bedecked tourists posing for shots, and across Lower Thames Street to St Magnus the Martyr, which if I was right, would be open from nine.

I was wrong.

Somehow, I got opening times of Tower of London and the church mixed up, so it would be closed until Sunday morning.

Sigh.

Instead, I walked through to the Thames Path, to walk downstream a quarter mile to the Tower of London and wait for All Hallows by the Tower to open at ten. Which I was sure would be open.

Certain.

So I took my time to walk to the Tower, mainly watching people, just delighted to be so close to such world famous buildings and views.

And why not.

I lollygagged as long as I could, but still had fifteen minutes to kill, so I found there was a small eatery built onto the east and south side of the church, so went in for coffee and a croissant, and watch a group of German NFL fans, so excited to be here for the game over the weekend.

The croissant seemed stale and warmed in a microwave, and the coffee harsh, but made better with lashings for butter and strawberry jam.

Once I had finished and paid, the church was open.

All Hallows is always a delight. It's a sailor's church, with lots of maritime history and artifacts. In the crypt, there is a small museum with a Roman tiles floor, a diorama of Roman London as well as carvings and stones from all periods of history from Roman times to the war, when the church was bombed and gutted.

Time to head for the rendezvous with fellow GWUKer, Graham, and Jools to get there too.

To get to St Catherine Dock, I walked round the north side of the Tower of London, then down the access road of the approach to Tower Bridge, and down a set of steps to the old docks, which like in most places has been gentrified, the lower levels are restaurants and bars, and above million quid apartments, with the docks full of yachts and other rich people's playthings.

But we were here to see and climb on something altogether different: The Galleon Andalucía, which was in town and allowing, for a few doubloons, get on board and inspect below decks.

As it were.

Graham had bought tickets for midday, and once the visit was over a plan to retreat to a nearby tavern was expected.

She is a 500 ton ship, which towers over every other vessel in the docks, and as you can imagine, was very popular with visitors. You could buy in advance or on the day, we had tickets already, so after greetings and swapping news, we joined the line to board.

Jools arrived, so off we went, though her foot was playing up, and various bit of my body were also waving flags.

Anyway, we climbed up the gangplank, up onto the deck, where we found a roped route marked out, and queues of folks everywhere.

View from the upper decks, through the ropes and pulleys were wonderful, but Jools and i though climbing down the steep steps to the lower decks wasn't necessary, so we jumped one rope near the gangplank to make our escape.

We found a place to sit and wait for Graham to do the full tour and take shots. There was always people to watch, people from all over the globe all agog at the galleon in such a small space.

From there we walked back to Tower Bridge, then headed north under the lines into Fenchurch Street to find the pub he had suggested.

The Crutched Friar, on a street of the same name is a large former coaching inn, now a gastro pub with good reviews. Its also quite quiet of a weekend, which suits us just fine.

We all order burgers and fries, along with drinks, and settle down to listen to the regional area meeting of the chain that owns the pubs, as, apparently, managers are being advised to push parings of wines with meals on customers.

Or something.

The food came and was good, and once we had eaten, Graham said he had to get back home, and for us, a two hour trip back to Kent lay ahead.

We walked to the main road, and we flagged a cab down, due to Jools's sore foot, and he tried to get up back to St Pancras, not easy as Holborn was closed due to demonstrations, and all traffic was trying the same shortcuts.

But drivers don't call it for nothing, he found a way and was dropping us off at the station of a delay of maybe only ten minutes in traffic, and once inside we see we just have half an hour to wait for our train.

In the meantime, I check the footy scores, and Norwich won 4-0 against Hull, and by all accounts could and should have had double that, strange times.

The train pulled in, we got a table, but the train wasn't full, so most could get a seat, and so the train pulled out on time, into the tunnel under east London and then to Kent and home.

In Harbour Tunnel, we were passed by 70000 Britannia, on another round Kent railtour, how wonderful she sounded in the confined space.

We walk to the car, then drive back to Townwall Street and back up Jubilee Way to home, where there was a feline welcoming committee waiting.

Then fed, we have a brew and put our feet up, with footy to watch and funk and soul to soothe our ears.