fleet street

I’m a romantic when it comes to Fleet Street. No reason, really. Except I feel as if I should be. But I’m like that with most of London. The parts the fire didn’t get. The parts the Germans did. I’ve spent too much time hanging around the Temple. Inner. Middle. All those Barristers make me feel like I should be doing something – more – with my life. But only for a moment.

I like wandering into places. Museums. Galleries. But mostly churches. Because I never feel pretentious in a 500 year old church. Unless I’m surrounded by one of those Dan Brown tours. Then I put pretension on like a big ole Bishop’s hat.

I like the house that Wren built – all of them, really – because I can sit for hours and not feel bad about not showing up on a Sunday. St Martin in the Fields (Gibbs. I know.). Full of tourists. Except when it isn’t. St Clement Dane. All the shrapnel in her side.

But I ramble. This was just meant to be an excuse to post a photo. To break up the monotony. And all that jazz….