The City and the City and the Church and the Church

Today I sat through Fast & Furious 6 for someone else, and now I am posting her photos from our trip into East central London as if they were mine, because I demand compensation for not falling asleep at any point while experiencing a selection of clichés stapled together with car chases.

Yesterday we walked around the London Museum, the Guildhall Art Gallery, and the Barbican Centre, but in between absorbing so much culture that my feet started to bleed (that’s how education works, right?) we also popped into a variety of churches: St Mary le Bow, for example, where there is currently a small exhibition of paintings, and – because the sky decided to piss water onto us – St Lawrence on Jewry, just by the Guildhall Buildings. It was entirely deserted when we went in, and we were only disturbed briefly by a cleaning lady in inspecting a certain amount of bling and passing our judgement on the saints.

This was our favourite:

 

St Mary Magdalene
St Mary Magdalene

We reserved our opprobrium for St Paul (“bit heavy on the homophobia”) and the Arch-Angel Michael (“boring hero dude”), and our praise for Mary Magdalene, who featured for some reason in a dream I had recently: where an imprisoned woman was giving someone a stern lecture about how Jesus loved and protected lepers and sex workers and that anyone who said prostitutes “deserved it” (the context was, unsurprisingly considering I’ve gone shitnuts for Hannibal on NBC at the moment, a serial killer who focussed as many do, on women who provide sexual relief in exchange for money) had no business calling themselves a Christian. Not a bad little lecture from my subconscious!

St Lawrence on Jewry
St Lawrence on Jewry

The church is in terms of architecture quite a modest little building, neither the gothic splendour of the cathedrals I love nor the sturdy little stone boxes I had to sing hymns in as a kid, but there are some lovely stained glass windows and some nice wood carvings and the organ pipes are BLINGY AS FUCK.

Stay tuned for further adventures in a city I have been living in for eleven years, in which I reduce centuries of art and culture and technological progress to phrases like “blingy as fuck”.

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