Friday and Saturday has been a lot
packed into two days as well. More organ playing, wandering around
Ealing, Cider, Cards Against Humanity, Oafs on tour, and finally,
Worcester! Don't worry, I actually took lots of pictures this time,
which will all go up in the fullness of time, which might even be
after Sweden because of how long messing about with Facebook will
take... Anyway, even though I've had an excellent time, it really is
all right and good to go home now. I've got a week long tour to
Truro's link Diocese to prepare for, and also actually moving out of
the Scholary itself yet to come. I'm going to need all the suitcases
to pack my clothes up, I just hope my future wardrobe (possibly still
in flatpack form at the time of writing) is enough to hold my great
variety of suits and shirts. When I actually step back into the
house, I hope that Ireland's finest export will be there to greet me,
before reporting to the bar for pints of soy sauce.
Last night's
drinking was completely different, finding myself enjoying the taste
of a pint of Thatchers Cider in Ealing's fabulous local JD
Wetherspoons establishment, the Sir Michael Balcon. There I reposed
and finally took the weight of my feet after a long afternoon of
traipsing round the Ealing Broadway Centre. Even though there was
the sheer novelty of there being a Primark(!), I couldn't find
anything that really suited my purpose. Something I've noticed
recently is the arrival of the 26” waistline in men's departments
(what women's size equates to a 26, I wonder...). It's been a good
few years since I was a 26” on the waist, and it's now no use to me
at all! Not only could I not find any vests, but all the shorts were
far too small. I was distraught (no not really). I also found
myself in TK Maxx, which is just about as exciting as you would
expect, and almost bought a pair of shorts that had a waxed
appearance, which I then rejected as they had no back pockets. Huh!
Surprisingly picky.
That was yesterday evening, however.
The morning was once again taken up by much Organ playing on the fine
T.C Lewis and company instrument that St. Mary's on the Hill is so
lucky to have. The devastation provided by the pedal Trombone was
excellent: Thursday's Buxtehude and yesterday's Piece d'Orgue were
well serviced by the foundational character and sheer power of the
pedal, which, in finest Neo-Classical registering tradition, remained
uncoupled throughout. Over the past few days having the Grand Piano
to practice on and visiting the Church for hours at a time have made
me feel much better about the state of my keyboard skills. I might
even hazard that I feel confident! The choir Tierce, though distant
in comparison to the Great chorus (aided by a hefty mixture), still
made its presence felt, that characteristically reedy tang just there
in the background. After a lunch composed primarily of the worst
pre-packed Stressco's sandwich, with added donuts, the day progressed
quietly until I ended up in Ealing Broadway, dealt with previously.
Let us progress to the barely remembered night...
Yes,
of course there was booze. Quite a lot. As I mentioned earlier, I
opened my bidding with the relatively novel taste of apple Cider,
Bulmers then Thatchers, before toddling off to meet my chum at the
Wheatsheaf. The Wheatsheaf, Ealing, is a fine public house tended to
by Fullers, itself none too far away. In the fridge, bottles of
Pride, ESB, Honeydew and London Porter; on the taps, Pride, ESB and
Chiswick Bitter. Wot, no Guinness? The hell am I paying for
Guinness in London. Pints of Pride and ESB set me back £3.65 a
piece, and that's more than bloody enough. It's becoming more and
more expensive to drink almost everywhere now, sadly. I'm just
looking for a chemical barrier between reality and my senses that
might end up in irreversible liver damage... Is that too much to ask
for? Honestly. Anyway, like I was saying, the Wheatsheaf was a
pretty nice place, actually. Critically, it felt
like a pub. It didn't have any sort of quirky theme or anything, but
it was as rammed as hell. I met my chumrade at the bar, and there
the journey to inebriation and beyond began.
We
were joined by an ex-scholar of Worcester, and then, at some length
by the Chief himself. After his abort on coming down to me last
week, it was at long last that we met again, and in such fine
surrounding. The party started, we moved on to the main event: Cards
Against Humanity. For those of you who are unfamiliar with this
game, allow me to describe:
- Each participant takes 10 'answer' cards.
- A 'question' card is drawn, and placed in the centre of proceedings
- From the 10 answers, the funniest and/or most inappropriate is chosen
- A vote is taken (nothing formal, like), and the winner is appointed!
- Continue until you reach a natural end. (Death not necessary)
It
became clear that the Chief had the most wicked eye, and won the good
majority of the rounds. The only answer card I can remember is
“pooping back and forth endlessly”, which even out of context
should give you an idea of how ridiculous it is. 10/10, will play
again. After wrapping up, we drank even more, and I think we left at
closing time, to walk through Ealing back to base. Here, Kebab was
both sought and enjoyed, and I made some friends in the shape of two
very lovely girls, one of whom was having her very first kebab! I
was gifted the name “Mr. Kebab”, and they even took my picture.
God knows what they'll do with that though. We three oafish
characters, stumbling through the Broadway, made a huge racket
singing the opening of the Vierne Messe Sollenelle Kyrie (because
obviously it would have to be the Vierne), which appreciably utterly
wrecked our voices.
Once
morning had broken after a short slumber, we sprang into action and
departed in peace from the Ealing Mansion. Making a short detour to
pick up our other comrade, elect of the LSE, we began our road trip
to Worcester! Hurrah! The Chief's car, an exceptionally comfortable
vehicle, served us with speed and stability, as it ferried our
loathsome corpses across the country. I became more and more aware
of how hungry I was, which alongside the developing headache, proved
to be quite a challenge to my patience. My hunger went unsatisfied
until about half past two this afternoon, and we must have only left
London at around 11am. In those frustrating hours, everything became
a problem, and I became remarkably more grumpy than usual. A trip to
Phat Nancy's, a top-class sandwich joint solved that thankfully, and
I remain convinced that Horseradish Mayonnaise is proof that God
exists and he loves us. Of course, no trip to Worcester is complete
without visiting the Cathedral, and many pictures were taken: the new
organ cases, what's left of the Hope-Jones with its magnificent
painted pipes and full length 32's, the choir screen, various tombs
and memorials... What a fine place it is! I am of course spoiled by
the Neo-Gothic of Truro, and the understated Baroque of Derby, but
the Norman fabric made quite an impact with the nave completely
devoid of chairs. It is here that my friends will attend the wedding
of a University friend of theirs tomorrow. Mazel Tov!
Now, I
still have just under three hours left on the rails. In fact, just
pulling into Tiverton Parkway right now. I'm aware of being rather
worn out, actually, but home isn't that far away! Pulling away from
the station at Taunton, Gothic church towers rise from the town,
before passing into the mist. In a few short hours, the Three Spires
will rise to greet me, as I remind myself that “I can see my house
from here”. Only three whole days until the 4am departure for
Strangnas once I'm back, and we get to go all over again... But by
coach, this time. And then by plane (how exciting). Once that's all
done and dusted, the final steps of moving out before I can start the
new year in a new place, with a new title.
Not
that it's in any way indicative of a “new me” or some other such
rubbish. Thank God.
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