We actually were contemplating to not go to mass, you know. The only services Tita Grace knew in London were in the morning, and you know how fast we are in getting ready. But Mom wouldn’t hear of it (she reminded Dad of the confession two years ago), and so we were ushered off sleepily to Westminster Cathedral.
    For those of you who might be confused (Heck, I know I was), Westminster Abbey, is the famous church, not Westminster Cathedral. After all, England’s official religion is Protestant, not Catholic (for ramblings about the blithering idiocy and senselessness of religious wars, read Day 3 of London).
    Nevertheless, Westminster Cathedral is something to visit. I’ve been to a number of beautiful churches, and this was another one. It was a medley of marble and mosaics, as cheesy as it may sound.

2230. Holy Mass and Holy Sheet
    The marbles were speckled and swirled ochres, yellows, greys, greens, and whites shaped into pillars and walls. Painted in white marble were the Stations of the Cross placed strategically in high arches. A huge mosaic rose out above the rest, literally and figuratively; behind the huge cross hanging from the high ceiling was an arc filled with depictions of Jesus, His Disciples, griffins, and angels. ‘Beautiful’ probably doesn’t even cut it.
    So there I was, waxing poetic about the Cathedral, when this elderly lady came up to Tita Grace and asked her a question. After an exchange with my mother, she agreed. My sisters and I shared looks of panic, but the deed was done.
    And that’s how I ended up being an offerer at Westminster Cathedral.
    Mind you, I was stage-frightened to death. Despite having spent more than half my life in a Catholic school, I was still deeply unsure about most of the rites. What if I slipped? What if I broke a vial? What if I genuflected with the wrong knee, or worse yet forgot to genuflect at all? Not even the plainsong sung during the mass could alleviate my panic. Then the offertory came, and my sisters, my aunt, and I served.
    Whew. That was nerve-wracking. I later found out that the public is forbidden to go to the altar. We had special access…whoah. How’s that for stroke of luck? :D
    After mass, the Lawlers decided to take us to a traditional fish n’ chips lunch. We all tried it (except for my sister, who is tragically allergic to fish). Maybe it’s just my family, but we failed to be wowed by it.
    I dunno.

Lunch with the Lawlers





    After recuperating a bit in the hotel, we set out once more. I really wasn’t that interested in going to Camden Town, but once Risa heard that they sold records there our destination was set. My sister, and I say this with no small amount of affection, always gets her way.
    Once we arrived there at 1 though, I was glad we came. The shopping area seemed to thrive with people and the tents and tents of good promised bargains to be found. While Risa sniffed around in the record stores, Mikki and I entered some clothes shops.
    And oh, what kind of clothes. The punk-goth look was very much in fashion, what with all the black corsets and chains and safety pins. I fell in love with a couple of shirts, skirts, and coats, but refrained from buying them; not only were they hideously expensive, but they were also far more attention-drawing than I would like them. Besides, leather isn’t practical for walking around in my campus. Camden Town

    I did get a shirt though. And a bandana. Risa by now had an armful of audio stuff to bring home, and Mikki killer thigh-high boots that were practically a steal. I had fun gawking at true punks. ^_^ And there was that weird shiplock thing too, that controlled boat travel between the dam and the river.
    We left Camdentown at 5, saying goodbye to Tita Grace and Uncle John. Since we are cheapskates, we raided the nearby supermarket—Waitrose—for dinn.