The first Sunny Day in England

Today, I returned to town with one comrade from yesterday. We made the long treck to the Eagle and the Child, where we ate lunch.

Upon ordering bacon and eggs, I discovered that British bacon is entirely different than American bacon. It is not a thin slice, but rather a chunk of meat, almost as thick as it is long. It seemed very British, which was a pleasant surprise, as I thought I had not been adventurous enough.

Thus, we sat in the pub of the Inklings, excitely saying things like, "These walls once echoed the voices of Lewis and Tolkien, breathing the words of Narnia and Middle Earth aloud for the first time! Latin and Greek and Elvish have filled this space and there at the bar, brilliant minds have spoken the same words we have (for they ate bacon as well, no doubt). Here, people discussed the forming of our very nation! (Probably with less than fond words...). This pub has stood longer than the Constitution of our country. And some of its signers may have come here in their younger days."

It was exciting.

[More unremarkable shopping.]

We made our way to Crick Street for tea at 3:30. There, I mingled from a seated position with all who came near enough to speak with. The tea was excellent and the cookies very, very chocolately, but far more remarkable were the people. Everyone was so friendly and quarky and jolly. I cannot wait to get to know them better than I do now.

We left Crick for the Anglican church, St. Andrews. I have never stepped inside of a lovelier building. The stained glass windows must be gorgeous in the light! The stone bricks had the comfort of stability-they looked neither untested by time nor too worn to last. The high ceiling echoed our resounding praise to God so that every voice was lost in a general song each one shared. The sound of our harmony, our words, our praise of grace, made that magnificent church like the curtains of my room. The building offered a threshhold between the worshippers and the Worshipped. The aged walls, erected in praise to God, seemed to fall away and the veil flitted so that the angel choirs could almost be heard in a voiceless echo.

The service was wonderful, and I have rarely seen so animated a preacher, particularly speaking on the passage which has tragically been blurred by cliche-John 3 on being born again.

I think I will return to St. Andrews.

From there, we walked home and I plugged in my newly purchased adaptor and started to write more here. There we are! Caught up at last!