Took instruction from a neighbour on the way to the station about something called Dorset White. Something which Neal's Yard Dairy might carry, it being a specialist in English cheese, notably the Lincolnshire Poacher which I buy. A cheese which I have always thought rather oddly named, there being just one dairy which makes the stuff. A dairy which is, to be fair, in Lincolnshire. Or maybe a factory, if they really are the only people. Do they make claims about it being made to some old Lincolnshire recipe, a recipe which used to be followed all over the county? See reference 1.
Next stop, a fine showing of fungus in Meadway, which for some reason I did not photograph.
Trains to Waterloo more or less OK now, just a short delay at Clapham Junction and a longer one at Vauxhall. At Waterloo I asked the guard about the new owners of Southwest Trains and he knew nothing apart from the fact of the change. No changes on the ground yet. Presumably the owners have taken on the whole operation with its staff (along with their sick days & pension rights, fully in lines with the rules of TUPE) and rolling stock, and the change lies mainly in the realms of finance and senior management.
Pulled a Bullingdon from near the top of the ramp and pedalled out through the fine new security arch and past the fine new security gates. Over the bridge and onto Drury Lane, a journey of some 7 minutes and 40 seconds. To find that the dairy had never heard of Dorset White. But I did, unusually, get a small piece of Caerphilly to go with my usual Poacher. It turned out to be rather good, despite being soft and white rather than hard and yellow. But a special occasion rather than an everyday cheese.
Pulled my second Bullingdon from Moor Street and pedalled off through what seemed a very quiet London to Rochester Row, a journey nearly exactly double that of the first at 15 minutes and 43 seconds. St. Stephen's Church firmly shut. RHS Library shut for stocktaking, aka summer holidays. Somewhere near the church was the grand front door illustrated above, something to do with almshouses. Perhaps this central bit was the warden's house, after the fashion of Trollope, with the almshouses proper just visible right.
Feeling peckish at this point, thought to try the new to me Coco's in Victoria Street. Rather a good sandwich and they looked to have some rather good hot offerings. And lots of bright young things from the world of work whizzing in and out. A place to be tried again. See reference 2.
Next stop the cathedral where I inspected the treasures. Treasures which included a lot of fragments of saintly bones, one recognisable neck vertebra and one speck of wood from the true cross. All nicely presented in fancy reliquaries. For the last true cross, see reference 4.
There was also some quite old silverware, some dating from the 15th century. I learned that, while Gothic Revival (of which, as it happens, St. Stephen's above was a good example) had been de rigueur at the time that the Cathedral was built, the archbishop of the day insisted on Byzantine Revival, in part because it was cheaper. This because in this style, unlike the Gothic, the decoration is just stuck on, rather than built in. Stuck on, in this case, for the first fifteen feet or so, leaving the dark, bare brick above. Dome cement and crushed brick. Not a fan vault to be be seen, for which see reference 3, a papal offering in genuine, if late, Gothic, rather than Revival. I also learned that you got more open floor space for your money with domes, rather than arches, making it more suitable for the papal liturgy. But I didn't quite get their point here. Must find someone who knows.
I noticed a large open pulpit, the shape of a large coffin, in the body of the church. Something last seen in Florence. Big enough for the preacher to march up and down in while he harangued the faithful. There was also an African lady having a close encounter with a small statue of a saint at the back of one of the side chapels.
After all of which I pulled my third and last Bullingdon of the day from outside the Queen Mother Sports Centre (a place where, many years ago now, I used to swim after work before repairing to what used to be the Lord Burleigh opposite). To find that the pollard olive trees of Grosvenor Road were all present and correct. Presumably shade tolerant being at the base of the north facing wall.
Over the bridge and through Battersea Park where there were lots of children on low rise tricycles. Got slightly lost in Battersea village, but this did mean that I passed the once famous Raven pub, a pub where a one time (Arnhem) paratrooper, one time mason, one time master butcher (purveyor of barons of beef to masonic banquets presided over by the Duke of Kent), one time customer of TB, had once been the landlord. In the days when it was a proper pub, selling a good deal of Guinness, rather than the Italian flavoured eatery it is now.
Made it to Falcon Road with 44 seconds to spare. Pressed the red button for fault as the front wheel, or at least the front axle, had been rubbing in an irritating way. It had detracted from the peace & quiet of Battersea Park.
Scored a couple of threes and a couple of twos at the aeroplane game while waiting for the train at Clapham Junction. Conditions quite good, but planes a bit thin on the ground. Must have been the pause before the evening rush.
PS: Vincent Square was once the much loved home of Richard Crossman, one of the first modern politicians to break ranks and write intimate diaries about his days as a Cabinet Minister.
Reference 1: https://lincolnshirepoachercheese.com/.
Reference 2: http://www.cocodimama.co.uk/.
Reference 3: http://psmv3.blogspot.co.uk/2017/08/fake-8.html.
Reference 4: http://pumpkinstrokemarrow.blogspot.co.uk/search?q=walsingham+true+cross.
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