Friday afternoon, I finished up early on a couple of items that needed to be written and then took the 285 to Hatton Station, renewed my Oyster card and hoped the Picadilly to Tralfalgar Square. I sat and ate my sandwich and listened to two Irish expats share their perspective on the city. Collected my trash and the neighbors and searched fro a trash can. They have been removed you know, to avoid the possibility of bombs being stashed.

London has applied this same logic to homeless sleeping on benches. There are very few, most short or bot a proper bench, just a twelve inch rounded prop-up.

Unable to resist the alllure-- I popped into St Martin's where the rehearsal was underway and listened to the New London Soloist Orchestra prepare for the evening concert. So unpretentious-- .

Walked down to Westminster, queued for a long time to be admitted to a 5 pm service. A kindly usher seated me in the Poet's nave in front of the bust of William Blake, wild eyes gazing heavenly. And to the right was the tomb of John Dryden, a great man of letters ( never read a word of him... use to conduse him with John Donne).
There was a boys choir, many white heads. Here's a question...
With evidence of such enormous investment in the service of God, great churches, wars, art, piety..... how can this generation be so sure we are right and previous generations were wrong, in where we put the center of our life?

SO-- after Westminster I had a wonderful cup of coffee after walking across the bridge to the cafe by the Aquarium. I couldn't resist the London Eye-- since twilight was falling, so again I queued.. 2 for 1... so I gave one to the guard with direction that he should find a lucky receipient ( $12 pounds and 30 minutes of wait time- quite the bonanza!)

It was lovely-- not fearsome at all... a little lonely... more and more I am aware it is a bit rare to be out on one's own. Afterwards I hailed my first taxi. He (elderly fellow) asked if I was a lawyer... or and actress... before I had barely spoken. Ah the exotic connotations of a red scarf!

We made it to the crypt in time to get tickets. I bought front row, A8 again. Felt a little guilty as the Irish student next to me scraped to get fare into the balcony. But-- the performance was wonderful. I believe, per the report of the gentleman next to me, that the conductor came over during the break, and spoke to his friends in the row behind, admitting to concern, under rehearsed on Eine Kleinen Nacht Music. Perhaps that was the Elizibeth to whom he dedicated the Piazolla the first time I heard them perform. No doubt that was why he looked so often in that direction. He had these gestures of nonscelance. Well-- in any event the performance was incredibley well articulated.... like seeing sculpture that rings true, or a painting that works close up and across the room, it hung together seemlessly. Really enjoyed the evening..

Long trip home... jumped on the bus which was going to Fetham, not to Bath Road... knew my error quickly-- and was put out right by the juvie offenders facility. But alls well that ends well..

And the next day (despite terrible blisters ) I was determined to make it to Windsor.