So Peeps, off we go to London…
We get a text informing us that the sports day at Harry’s school is postponed due to double drips on the weather app. I’ll be taking Zak to pre-schools which is near the station so I opt for a bacon sandwich at St. Martin-in-the-Fields on Trafalgar Square. The crypt is a jewel of a find and good value and it’s got the added bonus of being opposite The National Gallery so there’s no more to be said.
Twenty-odd minutes later and I’m disembarking the train at Charing Cross with mouth-watering anticipation of the thinly sliced grilled pig. I cross the road towards the lions then a quick right and down the steps and into the crypt where I know that several feet above me the church will be modestly doing the job for which it is renowned; homeless folks will be quietly snoring in the pews around the sides of the nave with a few more near the door.
You can use the glass lift if you wish and it gives you a view of the facilities on the way down, I opt for the stairs and the addition to my daily step count as the bonus.
Bit of a toe curler today. I have to complain about the bacon sandwich served on bread that really isn’t as fresh as it ought to be, they did suggest having it toasted and this bread would have been ideal for that but I’ve eaten half in the testing process and quite frankly, I just can’t be arsed. I do accept that there are folks that have to put up with worse and satisfy myself with the thought.
Their menu is really varied down here, the environment is good and the prices not bad for central London e.g. Full English for seven quid. You can do better in Leicester Square where you can find a Wetherspoons. The Moon Under Water is always worth a punt and they offer a helpful guide to the calorie count of each of their offerings. As an example their large English is ‘only’ 1629 calories…so for your average man you’re OK for another 871 in all your meals for the rest of the day; but you have to admit, it’s a cracking start and you are fully informed!
I make my way back to the ground level and it’s raining like a BBC weather app triple drip graphic or, in old vocabulary, ‘cats and dogs’ or ‘stair rods’. Each drop of rain is the size of a 303 bullet and heading south at about the same velocity. There are a number of people at the entrance all looking forlorn yet without this, the verdant green of the trees would not be in evidence; however, I’d really rather it rained at night.
My Gortex jacket makes a ceremonial appearance and I look for the hood which is buried in the collar and is proving difficult to extract probably through lack of use.
Hood extracted and donned I confidently step out of the building like a northerner on a mission and immediately go deaf with the unbelievable sound of the raindrops hitting the hood like bullets
I’ve never moved from St Martins to the National Portrait Gallery so quickly and after a quick search for my man bag, I’m in and browsing the beautiful works in the full knowledge that it really is peeing down outside so there’s no guilt. An hour later I’m passing an outward-facing door and notice the cloud has thinned and whilst it’s still not blue skies it is fair so I venture out to peruse the fourth plinth.
The Fourth Plinth is one of the most talked-about art projects in the world and was inaugurated to create a place for experimentation and debate and I love it.
I especially like the current work called “Really Good”.
It’s a thumbs-up with a difference, the thumb is extended and although disproportionate it’s significance is in the artist, David Shrigley from Macclesfield, and his ambition that it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy of the power of positive thought whether the other tension be in the economy, Brexit, the weather or any other negativity. It’s 7 metres tall (about 25 feet) and weighs four and a half tonnes and I just love it.
And the sun comes out, it must be working…
Enjoy the snaps…G..x