More abbey

Back to the Abbey last week, making use of my associate's card. A card which is paid for by a very small number of visits and makes it reasonable to pay short visits when the place is not crowded, as is the case at this time of the year. A theory which has served us well at Wisley and Hampton Court over the years, paying plenty of visits of an hour or so which one might not think worthwhile if one was paying the full price of around £20 per head per visit.

Bright, warm day.

Started at the station with a near tweet of a redwing, near tweet because I was thoroughly confused by seeing it from slightly below, rather than slightly above - so pale undersides rather than dark oversides. And twenty feet or so away was too far without the trusty monocular. But a glimpse of the striped head almost convinced me.

And then we had the yew. First at home and then at Motspur Park, where bright sunlight illumination from the side made the bushes in question look as if they were covered in yellow flowers. Most odd until the brain clicked into gear and got the right viewing template online.

In-train entertainment provided by two small children with their telephones, telephones which seemed to be emitting slurping noises as part of some game or other. Slurping noises which accompanied me to Waterloo, but the appearance and body language of the lady in charge did not invite inquiry. Perhaps she was embarrassed.

In-festival-hall entertainment provided by a sea of buggies parked where we used to take our picnics and a sea of small children and their minders milling about, with all kinds of half term activities being laid on for them. I got the impression that most of the mothers came from the middle rather than the working classes - this despite there still being plenty of working class accommodation in the surrounding area. At least, I thought there was.

Took a Bullingdon from the small stand outside the festival hall, that is to say, Concert Hall Approach 1, South Bank and made it to Storey's Gate, Westminster in 10 minutes and 33 seconds. That is to say the stand outside what was perhaps the nearest public house to the Treasury, a place which I used to use occasionally.

Just starting to get busy at the Abbey when I got there at around 1130 and it took me perhaps 5 minutes to get in. My associate membership earning me a bright yellow wrist band to distinguish me from the hoi polloi. A wrist band which I failed to operate and had to settle for attaching it to my bicycle clips, by then hanging off the trusty brown bag (from Osprey, via TK Maxx).

My brisk tour of the Abbey started with the monuments of the north aisle. I noticed, for example, that the monument for C. J. Fox included what appeared to be a supplicant negro among the basal figures. Perhaps I should ask a trusty for the significance of same. Then we had the bell of HMS Verdun, responsible for bringing over the remains of our unknown warrior and one of I have no idea how many warships which served in both world wars. I remembered to find out that the chap who got the prime slot across the screen from Isaac Newton, was James Stanhope, the old Etonian who was Walpole's predecessor as PM. A contemporary of Newton who was born in France of good English stock. Also one of the stars of the recently Oscar'd film about Queen Anne. And I came across a tablet for John Ligonier, Baron of Ripley, the place where Eric Clapton was born. I suppose that Ligonier had a house in Ripley, given that he was certainly not born there, having been born in France. See reference 1 for our first visit to the place.

Another bent pillar by the West Door. See reference 2 for the first such.

It occurred to me that the gilt of the High Altar and the Rood Screen was a good match for the candelabra at Buckfast, the copy of the Aachen Barbarossaleuchter. Perhaps the Dean could organise some sort of swap, exchange or visit so that the candelabra could be seen in the setting that it deserves. See reference 3.

The last tablet that I especially noticed was a rather large and rather odd memorial tablet in the cloisters dedicated to the men and women of British race who served in Malaya prior to its independence in 1957. I don't think one would talk of the British race in such a context now.

I was pleased with my visit. Having been several times over the past few months, the place is starting to be like an old friend. I am starting to relax and no longer need to rush around taking in all the sights.

Pulled another Bullingdon to take me from Storey's Gate to Moor Street, Soho, a run of 13 minutes and 39 seconds. And from there to the cheese shop to stock up on Poacher. Plus a bit of Gubbeen to vary BH's diet of soft white from a plastic tub.

Then down Charing Cross Road I came across a splendid one inch map of the Thames, more than fifty years old and with about eight feet of it folding into a normal looking one incher. But £250 was too much for what would really be an amusement, rather than something we would get any real use out of.

Then into Star Gifts in Cranbourn Street (Star Souvenirs in September 2018 according to Street View) for a spare charger for my telephone. First off they tried to get me to part with £25 for a fancy one, but I settled on £15 for a cheap one. I think I was slightly swindled in the sense that the price was chosen to suit the customer, and the man in the shop judged what I would cough up without grumbling very nicely.

Then into Terroirs where I was lazy enough to order the same meal as I had had on the previous occasion. Drinks the same too. See reference 4. Meal enlivened with discussion of the proper time for baking an apple. BH does cooking apples stuffed with brick dates for about 40 minutes, while Terroirs does peeled eating apples unstuffed for about 400 minutes at a very low temperature. Perfectly eatable, but I did not think that the French version was an improvement on the English version.

On exit we noticed that the flag over the Zimbabwe High Commission was at half mast, so I popped in to find out. The lady there did not know and the personal assistant to the ambassador did not know either. She said that it was certainly nothing to do with Nelson Mandela, whom they respected but whom they would not honour in that way. I forget why I thought that it might have been anything to do with him, it being nowhere near the date of either birth or death. I did learn that she came from the half of Zimbabwe which did not click, but I forget which half that was, Ndebele or Shona. While the flag was probably just an accident with the chap raising the flag in the morning not securing it properly. I left with a glossy magazine advertising Zimbabwe as a holiday destination. Lots of waterfalls and large animals.

Back through the Festival Hall where the toddler fest was winding down and the face painters (in red and blue fancy dress) were packing up their paints.

To Waterloo to find the trains in a bit of a state. I got on a train to Dorking, but had to get off at Raynes Park as it was going to run the rest of the way non-stop, no good to me at all.

Reference 1: https://psmv2.blogspot.com/2015/05/a-surrey-church.html.

Reference 2: https://psmv4.blogspot.com/2019/01/abbey.html.

Reference 3: https://psmv3.blogspot.com/2017/10/canopy.html.

Reference 4: https://psmv4.blogspot.com/2019/02/cheese.html.