A new church

A trip to London about ten days ago which resulted in a new-to-me church, All Saints in Margaret Street, as described at references 1 and 2.

Arriving at the station the Epsom Bean trees were in full Autumnal splendour, as is suggested by the Gleditsia bit of its proper name Gleditsia triacanthos. We have a rather different Gleditsia in our own road, rather different, but the same Autumnal splendour. Earlier notice to be found at reference 3. While Wikipedia says: 'the honey locust ... also known as the thorny locust or thorny honey locust, is a deciduous tree in the family Fabaceae, native to central North America where it is mostly found in the moist soil of river valleys. Honey locust is highly adaptable to different environments, has been introduced worldwide, and is an aggressive invasive species'.

About half the people on the town platforms were masked up, rather more on the train. While at Waterloo, despite the early hour, there were a  number of ladies in full war paint for racing at Ascot: that is to say the QIPCO British Champions day, as described at reference 4. For the benefit of the curious, QIPCO Holdings is a private investment company with a diverse and international portfolio of business interests which is based in Doha - the place where the accountants need to execute some fancy footwork to get round Allah's prohibition of the taking of interest on loans.

Pulled a Bullingdon and pulled across the bridge to find the Aldwych full of police, police cans and their blue and white tapes. No idea what was going on as I did not pass one disengaged enough to ask.

Road discipline of my fellow cyclists about average, with the offenders all being young males. While my own discipline slipped a bit between Newman Street and Wells Street. Defeated by the intricacies of the one way system. 

But the bonus was coming across an open All Saints' Church. I didn't like to flash the camera too much as there were a couple of people at their devotions, but I did sneak the one above from behind a pillar. A truly spectacular place, consecrated in 1860, as it turned out a monument to the Anglo-Catholic movement - that is to say people who sail as close to the Catholic wind as is possible without contravening the thirty nine articles, for which see reference 6. I dare say there were a few who slipped over the line. There was also a very powerful organ, with the organist doing a bit of practise.

Confused by their being no Stations of the Cross. Confusion because I had not at that point worked out that this was not a Catholic church, despite appearances.

With the exterior pretty well decorated too. For some reason, probably the amount of decoration, I was reminded of the church of St. James the less in Vauxhall Bridge Road, noticed at reference 7.

While across the road we had provision for a rather different congregation. I thought not the Shans of Burma, rather some distant relatives from the north.

First rendez-vous made, we paused for a pick-me-up at the Bellario of Great Titchfield Street, where we were served by a very diligent Latvian, who was able to offer a respectable Sauvignon Blanc from somewhere in Italy.

From there to the second rendez-vous, and lunch, at the Kibele, first noticed at reference 8. More diligent service, with the young lady involved sporting a small nose ring. We did very well with bread and dips to share, being offered a very large portion. I did not do so well with my lamb shank, almost certainly warmed up from frozen in the microwave: I must try to remember not to buy solid lamb from these kinds of places.

There was some kind of a lunch time party for young people in the function room adjacent, a party which seemed to involve lots of cigarette breaks. Plus plenty of other people wandering about. Plus a helicopter overhead. Perhaps it had detected cigarette smoke from on high.

I wound up with some of their Calvados, served in a tasting glass - otherwise un verre de dégustation - over a glass of hot water. All very good. At about this point, the point was made that the guide price quoted at reference 9 for a derelict cottage was almost certainly a come-on, only a small fraction of what the place was likely to fetch on the day. It seems, an increasingly common practise among provincial auctioneers a bit short of business.

Lunch done, paid a second visit to Nicolas, just down the road. Bought some Riesling, inspected a new-to-me brand of Calvados and had a smell of the cigar cupboard. And so down to a busy, largely mask free Oxford Street.

Across Oxford Street, heading into Soho. With tall windows up above, the back of what exactly?

Too well oiled to be bothered with whatever was going on in the Photographers' Gallery. Where I seem to remember sometimes not liking their offering: that is to say, far too much information. Maybe informative, but not entertaining and certainly not uplifting. Not for me anyway.

The late, lamented Intrepid Fox, a once famous establishment that I used to visit sometimes in my working days. Since then a burger joint and now closed. No doubt about to become something without interest for me. But then again, perhaps with all the fancy tile work it is under the protection of the Soho Society?

At this point, I decided that I had calmed down enough and that a gentle roll down the hill to Westminster, across the bridge and onto Waterloo would be in order. Maybe I should not have, but apart from a couple of gents swinging open the door of their taxi, right in front of me, on Westminster Bridge, incident free. Possibly from Essex, dressed up for a day in town.

At the top of the ramp at Waterloo, some alien was blocking the pole position, so I had to land my Bullingdon on the No.2 spot.

Arrived at Epsom and elected to walk back through Court Recreation Ground, to find a small posse of young men, probably in their teens, swinging around on their bicycles while cursing each other in colourful ways. Perhaps just as well that it was still light. While all the walnuts on the small tree at the corner of the vet's car park, noticed at reference 10, seem to have vanished and the tree was looking a bit battered. Maybe they had been knocked off with sticks, peasant style.

And after all this excitement, I thought I had earned a little winding down something at TB - where, contrariwise, they seemed to be winding up for action later.

PS: odd how close the two times are. Perhaps the energy available for the first leg was nicely balanced by the second leg, some time later, being rather shorter.

References 

Reference 1: https://asms.uk/.

Reference 2: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/All_Saints,_Margaret_Street.

Reference 3: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2021/09/a-trip-to-wimbledon.html.

Reference 4: https://www.ascot.co.uk/news/qipco-british-champions-day-racing-preview-2021.

Reference 5: https://www.qipco.com.qa/.

Reference 6: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2021/09/heritage-day-2-part-1.html.

Reference 7: https://pumpkinstrokemarrow.blogspot.com/2010/09/im-forever-blowing-bubbles-not.html.

Reference 8: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2021/09/hafod.html.

Reference 9: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2021/10/rural-retreat.html.

Reference 10: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2021/09/walnut-tree-confirmed.html.