Breakfasting with Kings

As with everything, we'll start with a question;

Who fell where the candle burns? The answer is at the bottom of this entry. My advice is not to continue reading until you've got it, That would be cheating.

To the left of the candle is The Black Prince, who may or may not have been a King, and to the right is King Henry IV and his presumably delightful wife, Joan of Navarre. Although she sounds suspiciously foreign to me. King Henry IV's alabaster effigy looks like it's about 5'1". The sort of height usually associated with Rugby coaches rather than Kings. Now I've never paid much attention to royalty because, well frankly, they're a bit irrelevant really and the very opposite of deserving although in this case I'll make an exception. That's because there's no way that 5'1" would cut it these days (unless you're Bernie Ecclestone) and I think some research into average heights through the centuries is needed. If someone would be so kind, I'd be interested in the result. Anyway, here's where I had my first snack of the day.

If you're still puzzling over the question here's a little clue in the form of a riddle. Two men submit nearly identical CV's for Beatificiation, the only difference is that one mentions his assassination by Frenchmen. Who gets to be the new Saint? Again the answer is at the bottom.

If it's OK, I'd like to recommend visiting this Cathedral, if only because £9, coupled with the Gift Aid, gives you as many visits to the cathedral as you'd like during a twelve month period. As with everything, this does strike one as odd considering that this Cathedral offers the usual services, Holy Communion, Matins Evensong etc. Something that doesn't ordinarily command an entrance fee. However, it is sufficiently impressive to be worth it, even to Atheists. And it's a World Heritage site to boot.

For the record, it's 120.37 kilometres from Dover to London (Why my device uses the measurement of the devil is a mystery to me) and you will ascend a combined 2047 metres along the way. The good news is, if you live a metre below sea level, that you'll descend more. If you start at sea level, that is. And I did, Dover remember. Further, I'd forgotten about the psychological battle with enforced solitude and frankly, I'd have stopped in the Medway towns (and where would England's Green and pleasant land be without them?) if the wind wasn't behind me.

However, now it is Sunday and I'm delighted to say that my lamb is beckoning and that takes precedence. Do come back in about a week when you'll be bored by English jokes about the continent, driving on the wrong side of the road and more baguettes than you can shake a, well baguette, at.

St Thomas of Canterbury, or Thomas a Becket if you prefer, fell where the candle burns and the new saint is Ian Ogilvy. Congratulations.