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London









It was -1 degrees when I landed, but the sky was a clear bright blue, and with just as much to fear from nutters bearing gelignite as the yanks, the Brits processed us visitors with infinitely more grace, efficiency and friendliness. I had forgotten, until I was sitting on the tube, how much I love this place. There is a feel to it which is utterly other - there is no amount of imagining that could convince me I might be somewhere in New Zealand - but at the same time it is comfortable and familiar and deeply, deeply known. The tube zims speedily through the dark tunnels and I am surrounded by that variation in humanity which makes London so unpredictable and so appealing. There is an elderly East Indian woman with bags of groceries at her feet, reading the Financial Times. A group of tiny schoolgirls in panama hats gather Madeleine style around a Miss Clavell. An achingly beautiful girl sits distractedly in a hippie costume of kaftan and brightly woven headband. Young men receive texts and talk to each other in Turkish. An old guy in a leather jacket and jeans reminisces silently about the days when he rode a Matchless wiv a bird upon 'is bike; his clothes have remained the same since 1964 though he has changed within them as has the world around him. An assured young man talks loudly to three assured young woman and a slightly more diffident older one.

There is congestion on the Circle line and some sort of repairs being made to the District line. I look at the tube map on the wall and recalculate my way to Victoria. I feel like one of the cognoscente.

I buy an English sim card and Google Map my way to the little hotel I have booked. I have a shower and find a pub for my first real beer since I was last here and have something to eat. I had intended to visit the Tate Modern, but instead am content to wander the streets. Near my hotel are streets lined with Maseratis and Porsches, but also ones containing a market, and guys with dreadlocks and Rasta caps, and there are racks of the new Boris Bikes, and theatres and cafes and famous buildings at every turn. I wear 4 layers,three of them woolen, two fairly thick but I am only just warm enough. I pop into Westminster Cathedral. It looks a bit like a railway station but feels inexpressibly holy. I am moved deeply at the sight of the fragile little body of St. John Southworth who, in 1654 suffered the inhuman fate of being hung drawn and quartered for the crime of ministering to his people as a Catholic priest. Oh my Lord. The things we have done in your name! Forgive us.

I walk out into the gathering dusk at 4:00 and back to my tiny room to sleep. I'm glad, as I walk, of the scarf and gloves but gladder still to be here.


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Anonymous said…
Hi, Kelvin, nice to hear you're back in Ing-er-land - we met up in Canterbury when you were on your sabbatical.
If you have time and come down this way again, you might care to see some of the fine castles of Kent, esp. Dover and Walmer. Is it St John's Durham or Nott'm you're going to?
every blessing,
Brian (ex-Dunedin)
1 February 2011 at 20:08
Kelvin Wright said…
Actually Brian it's Canterbury. I'm there for a week starting today. It would be great to catch up again
1 February 2011 at 20:38
Anonymous said…
Brilliant! Let's meet up and I can show you a few places you might not have seen last time & our church.
every blessing,
Brian
1 February 2011 at 21:16
Anonymous said…
Good to have you here Kelvin - however may I gently suggest that should you wish to attract or retain the services of any clergy from these fair shores, comments about 'first real beer since I was last here' may be a tad unwise?;)
1 February 2011 at 22:34
Lee said…
It sounds like you've hit a warm spell - a friend of mine in the UK told me recently that the beer in her granddad's shed had frozen solid, and it was 25 degrees below.

I love England, my parents are Poms and it feels very homelike to me - not least because I'm related to half the population of Surrey, three quarters of the population of Hampshire, and every citizen excluding three people who migrated from India in Buckinghamshire. But you can keep it - I prefer the warm, sunny climate of Dunedin! :-)
2 February 2011 at 21:02
Brian R said…
The ODT thinks you are in Canada
3 February 2011 at 07:26
Anonymous said…
It may not be a bad thing that the ODT thinks you are in Canada.
3 February 2011 at 09:56
Anonymous said…
Another fine pub a short walk from the Cathderal is 'The White Hart' which has a good beer garden.
'The Ancient Raj' by the Stour is good value for good curries.
Hope we can meet up soon, Kelvin. Why not come along to St Mary Bredin Church this Sunday (Old Dover Road, 10 mins from the Cathedral) - large and very lively. How long are you in 'Mater Angliae'?
Brian
3 February 2011 at 11:52
Zane Elliott said…
"I have a shower and find a pub for my first real beer since I was last here"?!
How can this be? Dunedin has two exceptional breweries - Emmersons and The Green Man - have you not discovered 'Tonic' a purveyor of fine beer from across NZ and the world? Perhaps when you return you could join me there for a brew, it is within our parish bounds, so obviously I have a duty to minister there as regularly as possible!
4 February 2011 at 08:34
Lee said…
In agreement with Zane: I think it is quite clear that it is the duty of all upstanding Dunedinites to shout the Bishop a locally-produced beer when he returns home, so that we can help change his mind ;-)

I'm an Aussie-girl-gone-Kiwi, and I have to say that Dunedin has some excellent beers - comparable to anything Australia or the UK produces.

Emerson's "Bookbinder" is a favourite of mine.
4 February 2011 at 13:15
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