St. Martin-in-the-fields lies just to the side of Trafalgar Square. It’s “in the fields” because when it was built, it lay in the broad fields between the cities of Westminster and London. Now, of course, it lies in the midst of Tourist Central. No matter. St. Martin-in-the-fields is a lovely church, and plays host to some of the greatest classical recordings and concerts around.
As we were strolling by, we heard a choral rehearsal going on inside, so we popped in for a few minutes to sit in a back pew and listen.
We met at the door to the National Portrait Gallery and from there we wandered a few blocks away to a cafe of Lisa’s choosing, Patisserie Valerie — a place that I mean to return to for more sampling of its insanely tasty cakes and assorted other treats:
Melissa and Lisa:
Lisa perusing Melissa’s new book, Small Stash Sewing:
We also spent some time in the National Gallery, where I might have taken one or two illicit pictures, after which I might have gotten spoken to by a security guard:
I took quite a few illicit photos later that night, as it happened. At the theater that evening, we were joined by a few unexpected folks who were watching the show with us, sitting not far from us, and obligingly allowing us to brush up against them repeatedly in the crowd during intermission and afterwards in the theater bar:
Rupert Penry-Jones. And he wasn’t alone.