Monday, April 23. A few aches during the night, and waking to find I couldn't see very well concluded another change in weather on its way. Though hard to see how weather could change any more, considering it has hardly been the same for ten minutes at a time since we got here. Over breakfast watched a squirrel annoying some pigeons in the park below our window, later went out to catch up on internet things while L made return visit to London Archives/ hairdresser. She has her voice back now, but is still coughing well.
Found internet cafe nearby in what is clearly a student precinct - vegetarian cafes, gay bookshops, all the things young people care about. By the time I emerged into the street the change had arrived - temperature dropped about 10 degrees and rain driven by blustery wind. Umbrella turned itself inside out several times and then folded into 4, a number of the ribs having snapped. Nevertheless searched out Red Lion Square and found the house where Rossettti , then Morris and Burne Jones, lived in the 50s: flat-fronted grey-yellow brick, 4 storeys with basement. Now several sets of business premises. Off to Queen Square where Morrises lived after Red House, but little original still standing. Then via The Brunswick, a shopping centre that would impress anyone that hasn't been to Westfield Tuggerah, where ditched the umbrella and bought another, returning home with a Lebanese wrap from the King of Felafel to await L's return, warm up and dry off.
Read some of a Swedish murder mystery from a series that claims to have sold 10 million copies worldwide - I find it derivative and feeble. Ditto with Miss Smilla's Feeling for Snow which made such a splash a few years ago - once you got past the fact that the hero was a gay woman Eskimo there was nothing there. Conclusion: it's easy to be a celebrated writer if you're not writing in English.
When L came back set out for evensong at Westminster Abbey - through misreading the tube map arrived late and were seated outwside the choir screen. Effect rather of looking into a secret place - inside, lit by red-shaded lamps on the desks, we could see the choir, while outside we faced the richly gilded screen and an altar with a cloth embroidered with the Latin distich 'Crux fidelis inter omnes / arbor una nobilis' - no doubt from some source well-known to everyone besides me. The music and the prayers coming out through the screen created just the feeling I had missed the previous evening. It being St George's day, the prayers were of a national character, but specifically directed to include all English people whatever their ethnicity, faith or orientation. Finished with Kipling's great anti-war hymn. L felt it showed where the mainstream C of E was these days, and it was a good place. Huge congregation, as we saw when those lucky enough to have been inside came out - not bad for Monday 5pm. Afterwards A2 took us to Jamie's Italian in Covent Garden. Parted around 9, as A1 had work to finish. Hope to see them at Christmas.