The Tenth Day.

Another day in London and this time with my mate Norman. We had arranged to meet at 10.30 on the steps of the National Gallery so as I arrived early I popped in to the National Portrait Gallery for a few minutes. England's history in the faces of its rulers, politicians, actors, writers and others......fascinating.
Norman and I set off down Whitehall to catch a bus to the Tate Gallery. We sprinted, yes sprinted, to catch said bus, and, puffing still, arrived at the Tate. We were there to see an exhibition of paintings by the English painter Millais, a member of the Pre-Raphaelite movement. The paintings were superb. The Pre-Raphaelite period works characterised by fine detail and vibrant colour. Millais was more than a Pre-Raphaelite painter. He produced some wonderful portraits of the good and the great, Disraeli, Gladstone, Lily Langtry. In fact he was earning £30,000 a year at this time, late 19th century. I take an almost childish delight when I see actual paintings of pictures I am familiar with. In Millais' case, "The Childhood of Walter Raleigh" and "Bubbles" (used as an advert for Pear's soap) are two paintings that I first met, in books, many years ago and here they were. After the Millais, a real treat, and a coffee, another real treat we wandered into the Tate permanent exhibition but quickly decided we had seen enough for one day (How I wish I could pop in every week or so.) and headed to "The Old Bell" in Blackfriars. A pint and Pork and Leek sausages and mash went down well. Over a second pint we again put the world to rights.
Not too far from the pub is St Paul's Cathedral and since Norman hadn't been in we made a visit. A charming lady took us round for half an hour pointing out aspects of interest: only the queen and other important people get to enter through the big West Door; the fact that such a huge heavy door opens to a touch; nobodies remains lie in the cathedral itself but in the crypt; Wren seems to have pushed for more elaborate decoration around the high altar than was wanted and he got away with it; in the crypt is a memorial to an American who joined the Royal Air Force before the Americans officially entered WW2. We climbed, slowly, up to the whispering gallery and enjoyed the gob-smacking view below us.
Home then to cook tea for Sarah and pack for the trip up north.