London -- Sunday

Being Episcopalian, I had wanted to go to mass at an actual Anglican church. I noticed in the lobby of our hotel that they had listed the times for services for Westminster Abbey and St. Paul's. acanthusleaf pointed out that as long as I was going to a church, I may as well go to a really great one, so Sunday morning I headed off to Westminster Abbey for Matins and a sung Eucharist. (L went to the V&A, which was right down the street from our hotel.)

I got off the tube next to the Houses of Parliament, and noticed (hard to miss) across the street from the front of the building (where Members would drive in and out) a line of protest posters, but no picketers. I walked past Big Ben on to Westminster Abbey, past St. Margaret's Church and through the grounds to the door in the nave. There were a couple of tourists milling about, but not many, and a very nice man standing in the way at the gate. As I and a small group walked up to the gate he asked, "Come to say your prayers, then?" and stepped aside.

I walked almost alone down the nave towards the altar, gestured along my way by ushers (the men were wearing morning coats (with tails) and ties). They sat me in the quire, the wooden structure just west of the altar with the only built in seats, where the choir sits. The choir itself sat in the first two rows in the middle, and the rest of us sat in the third row or on the ends (or in folding modern chairs in rows). I felt very Medieval. The seat itself wasn't very comfortable, though, nor was the kneeler, but the coolness factor was very high.

The choir was made up of twelve men and twenty-four boys, a couple of whom were tiny (and all very well-behaved, and looking angelic in their lace collars). They sang beautifully. The verger carried a very large ornamental mace. The sermons (I was at two services) were a little disjointed, but I pleased when one of them spoke in favor of gay marriages, pointing out that the world was changing, and the church didn't want to be seen as irrelevant. The offering wasn't made with large flat plates, like I'm used to, but with smallish leather pouches hung from wooden handles, with a slit at the top to put in the money. Going up for communium, with the choir singing and filling the high ceiling, was awe-some.

After that, I went back out in the cold (the coldest day we had all week) back to the hotel to meet up with L. She was disappointed because the Medieval section of the V&A had been closed (but would reopen in 2006). We had one of our best meals of the week at an Indian restaurant across the street. I had a delicious lamb dish (lamb saka) in a creamy sauce, and naan. And Coke for two pounds.

That afternoon we went to the Museum of London, about two blocks north of St. Paul's. I'd never been there before, but had heard good things about it. It's the museum of the City of London itself, and starts from prehistoric times and goes to the present. It's geared towards children, but had very nice exhibits. I can't tell you about the Medieval section, though, because it, too, was closed for remodelling.

We spent most of our time in the Roman Britain section. This is the museum that puts out the wonderful books in great, great detail on how Medieval shoes were made, or jewelry, or whatever, with extensive examples from their archaeological digs. (All the books were in the book store, if you're interested.) They had exhibits that showed what different Roman Britain merchant stalls would look like, with actual tools and other items from the period, plus mockups of houses belonging to people with different occupations and different social classes, including a floor mural. They had items from a temple of Mithras and a temple to an unknown Roman goddess. The latter included several phallic amulets, rather well done. :-)

Downstairs they had a Victorian city mockup that would have done Dickens Faire proud, plus the actual Lord Mayor of London's coach (but no horses), and an exhibit on the Industrial Revolution and poverty. Interesting, and nicely done.

I was already suffering rather badly from museum legs (while kneeling that morning I'd had painful muscle spasms), and back at the hotel had a nice hot soak in the bathtub. London has stairs everywhere, and Santa Clara has stairs practically nowhere. Age and weight also didn't help. So it was a quiet evening, and so to bed, in anticipation of our trip the next day to Brighton to see mevennen.