Today I lit a candle at All Hallow's Church near the Tower for my father who died on Monday. Today's tale of
Breakfast in Britain is how I got there.
It's a glorious morning! The rain has stopped -- rain, rain, rain! London has had more rain these past couple months than in recorded history...and that's a long time here.
We head out on foot, strolling through the Brockley Conservancy area with its rows of terrace homes, along the Ravensbrook River in Millbrook Park. Daffodils line the path and blossoms fill the trees.
Even in the park there are signs of construction and maintenance -- Britain's on-going attempt to keep the ravages of time at bay --
replacing broken pavement, straightening sagging fences, painting peeling bridges.
We cross over the DLR (Docklands Light Railway) tracks, which only a few years ago opened up the area for commuters to the financial district of London. The construction of ever more highrise apartment buildings are testament to the popularity of the idea.
These new expensive towers stand side-by-side with the Council Estate towers, the public housing that dots the London map. We walk through the Coldbath Street Estate as we near Greenwich. The view toward the city shimmers in the morning sunlight -- the Shard to the west, Canary Wharf to the East on the horizon.
Tempted to eat at our favourite Golden Cafe, we decide to try a different cafe this morning -- the Hot Pot Cafe on South Greenwich Street. Like the Golden Cafe, the Hot Pot sits just outside the tourist mecca, so prices are local and reasonable (half the price of their counterparts two streets closer to the Greenwich market).
The bright cafe enjoys a steady stream of fluorescent jackets and hard hats, and assorted tools including a six-foot level -- feeding the men who work hard to keep London up and running. As usual for these breakfast cafes, not a woman in sight, except me.
Happy Husband enjoys the perfectly runny fried eggs. The mug of tea steams hot.
The decor is eclectic, for sure. Pictures of cats, women in togas (looks a bit like a Victorian Greek harem), Eastern European ceramics, mountain scenes of Turkey perhaps, or Vietnam, and two original pieces of art spouting wisdom.
Greenwich is a great starting point for a London extravaganza -- which our day becomes. We hop on the DLR at the Cutty Sark station, ride under the Thames and then over the canals of the Docklands, ending up at Toward Gate.
As members of the
Royal Palaces, we can visit The Tower of London anytime, and we especially enjoy arriving before 10:00 am, before the crowds and strolling through the grounds, often with a quick view of the jewels, the coronation spoon and the gold baptismal fonts. A good reminder of the disparity between the wealthy and everyone else. A good reminder that fairy tales include very few characters who live happily ever after under crowns and ermine robes.
Today, rather than walk up the river to the city centre, we head up toward Cheapside. Construction cranes tower over the city -- making old newer and squeezing in new wherever there is space. We come across a church we've never noticed before, behind the Tower Gift Shop. We slip inside.
We find ourselves on the site of Barking Abbey started in the 7th century, built over "one of the most perfectly preserved" sections of Roman pavement. All Hallow's Church baptism registry shows William Penn (23 October 1644), and the wedding register displays the signatures of John Quincy Adams and his bride Louise in 1797.
A Mariners' Chapel displays numerous model ships -- Happy Husband suggests they may have been off-loaded over the years by well meaning parishioners, like the toothpick Last Suppers found on too many church walls.
Breakfast in Britain, a solid start for another wonderful day in London!
Sometimes the best place for breakfast is Home. We enjoy a bit of a lie-in and gather in our dining room overlooking our London garden -- brilliant with a blaze of yellow blossoms. Our regular feathered visitors drop by: robins, Parrots, tits and woodpeckers. 
Leaping squirrels and sunning foxes make a morning of it.
Inspiring hope with its sunshine yellow glow, the poacher hooks over the side of a pot and holds the two eggs just above water level inside. A dab of butter keeps the eggs from sticking.
I remember to create a pleasing geometric pattern with the bread triangles, and voilà! two poached eggs on toast with a flare! Yes, they are runny!
As for the decor -- fascinating spoon collection framing a large map of Britain. Then there's the wall dedicated to the offspring, the cookie cutter display that reminds us of Happy Husband's Mum, and a recently acquired English country scene painted by a local artist.
