So I've survived a day and night in London.
Landing at Heathrow brought back a multitude of emotions; none of which could be fully expressed until I cleared the interrogation zone at customs. Fortunately there were more than a few officers working, and no excuses of 'just about to take a break'.
The tube ride into the city is a breeze and so much more affordable than Sydney's outrageously expensive airport train (despite it's ease and efficiency). Fun being back on... it was freezing outside! A balmy 6 degrees for a welcoming May day.
I'm in a first floor plat in a Georgian terrace in Bloomsbury, closer to Holborn. The front door is pillar box red - I love it! The beautiful tromple l'oeil scene of a conservatory room in the main reception room is a little disturbing, however. I still can't get over the whole carpeted bathroom thing.
It's a charming neighbourhood between the universtiy and hospital, and is rather quiet, fortunately. A pheasant-like bird is nesting outside the bedroom window. Full height floor to ceiling sash windows in the reception room are devastatingly elegant. I want!
10 am. Breakfast (bacon and egg sandwich - yummo); showered, changed - off to Westminster Abbey, fighting through the crowds of Continentals and the already manic tube, I arrive in Westminster. It is crisp, the light golden, few clouds in the sky.
Thanks to wonderful Warren, I dodge the crowds of onlookers to my reserved seat ("Oh, you're the Australian dentist..!") behind the choir; south side, seat number 6. Gorgeous. It is such a beautiful church, the choir and organ are rather, well, orgasmic; but what I lust after mostly are the outrageous Waterford Crystal chandeliers. Yes please!
Being so close to the choir throughout the service was a delight, Dove's Missa Brevis was sung heartily, although the service was marred being seated next to an obscenely obese American who had appalling body odour and smelling of regurgitating gastric juices, he must have been suffering from peripheral neuropathy and possible deafness. Being as 'subtle' as an American could be, he was reading, very loudly in that awful accent, unsympathetically out of time with the rest of the congregation. Oh well, you get all types.
Catching up with dear friend Kathryn, David walks us into Soho for food suggestions... we decide on what appears like a charming pub, serving usual pub grub... my gammon and eggs was satisfying.
The weariness begins to draw in; and after heading back to the flat and having a lamb roast dinner, it's time for bed, under King King's twinkle toes upstairs.
Landing at Heathrow brought back a multitude of emotions; none of which could be fully expressed until I cleared the interrogation zone at customs. Fortunately there were more than a few officers working, and no excuses of 'just about to take a break'.
The tube ride into the city is a breeze and so much more affordable than Sydney's outrageously expensive airport train (despite it's ease and efficiency). Fun being back on... it was freezing outside! A balmy 6 degrees for a welcoming May day.
I'm in a first floor plat in a Georgian terrace in Bloomsbury, closer to Holborn. The front door is pillar box red - I love it! The beautiful tromple l'oeil scene of a conservatory room in the main reception room is a little disturbing, however. I still can't get over the whole carpeted bathroom thing.
It's a charming neighbourhood between the universtiy and hospital, and is rather quiet, fortunately. A pheasant-like bird is nesting outside the bedroom window. Full height floor to ceiling sash windows in the reception room are devastatingly elegant. I want!
10 am. Breakfast (bacon and egg sandwich - yummo); showered, changed - off to Westminster Abbey, fighting through the crowds of Continentals and the already manic tube, I arrive in Westminster. It is crisp, the light golden, few clouds in the sky.
Thanks to wonderful Warren, I dodge the crowds of onlookers to my reserved seat ("Oh, you're the Australian dentist..!") behind the choir; south side, seat number 6. Gorgeous. It is such a beautiful church, the choir and organ are rather, well, orgasmic; but what I lust after mostly are the outrageous Waterford Crystal chandeliers. Yes please!
Being so close to the choir throughout the service was a delight, Dove's Missa Brevis was sung heartily, although the service was marred being seated next to an obscenely obese American who had appalling body odour and smelling of regurgitating gastric juices, he must have been suffering from peripheral neuropathy and possible deafness. Being as 'subtle' as an American could be, he was reading, very loudly in that awful accent, unsympathetically out of time with the rest of the congregation. Oh well, you get all types.
Catching up with dear friend Kathryn, David walks us into Soho for food suggestions... we decide on what appears like a charming pub, serving usual pub grub... my gammon and eggs was satisfying.
The weariness begins to draw in; and after heading back to the flat and having a lamb roast dinner, it's time for bed, under King King's twinkle toes upstairs.
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