Huge empty East End church by a Wren assistant, burnt in 1850 but apparently un-Blitzed. Nice index from 19th century clock and other curiosities. Can’t spell Betjeman. Sunday evening service: a short dozen adults & half a dozen bored infants seating under the crossing facing south (Mandela, the new Jesus Christ?) with rector & PA droning on about Jesus’ to-do list, enough to make you want to behead someone. At the back of the pews, your faithful correspondent, with just across the way from him what appears to be a gay National Front couple, and behind him an affluent- and vaguely Japanese-looking Spanish girl with a large suitcase. Suddenly one of the NFers begins weeping and then, during a rectorial pause, stands up and begins to clap loudly, shouting, “Fucking hell, you said it! Fucking excellent!” “Thank you,” simpers the rector, and some of the congregation start to applaud too as only Anglicans can. An old man comes back to investigate, and the weeper clambers over the pews to him and they return hand-in-hand to the front. Exeunt in embarrassment and fear yours truly & Spanish girl, who it turns out is staying with mum at the night shelter (dinner/bed/breakfast: civilised). Watch out for the old drunk with the pitbull in the churchyard! Still more edifying than the freaking burkas on the green. Party discussion last night: it is so unjust that there are more words for male than female genitalia.
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Is that the one with the pyramid in the grounds?
Yup, like it fell alongside David Bowie.
Crikey, who’d have thought that you could go to church and get that much action.
It says on the site “Almighty God has graciously put together a hugely diverse congregation that meets here.” That’s not far wrong then.