...to the Guards Museum, Wellington Barracks, on an errand about a medal ribbon. It's always somehow nice to be on Army territory again.
There is a rather good Gift Shop, with the most superb collections of toy soldiers.
I wandered into the Guards Chapel. The original 19th century building was almost destroyed in WWII but the chancel was unharmed: pre-Raphaelite and glorious, with Christ on the Cross at the centre, and triumphant above...
The large main part of the chapel is ennobled by the regimental colours laid up there, and the memorials to the war dead of Guards regiments over two centuries. It all speaks, in an understated but unashamed ways, of faith and faithfulness, courage and duty and sacrifice. Many battle names familiar and resonating with a sort of folk-memory. Like all Army places, it was spick-and-span,Two ladies were busily cleaning the already immaculate floor.
Out into a damp London, the lawns of St James Park v. green, and splashy puddles along Birdcage Walk.
Newspapers today have stories about childen who think they want a sex-change operation, and about the obesity crisis.
Oh dear. Our poor beloved country.