My dotage, slide into semi-retirement; call it what you will, will, I'm sure, take on many facets. I could, quite easily, spend all my time jumping on and off trains armed with nothing more than my quick wit and repartee (or, alternatively, camera, egg sandwiches and a copy of the Good Beer Guide). Photographing obscure brutalist supermarkets/launderettes/phone boxes/general urban decay in whichever town I pitch up at followed by a trip to the local museum, and finally rounding things off in a local tavern with a flagon of frothing ale would, to some, be a very unexciting way to occupy your days: a bit like Last of the Summer Wine but without the tin bath rolling down the hill. Hang on a minute - rewind to that bit about could. Who am I kidding? That's precisely how I see my dotage. In fact, it's kind of what I do now anyway. I was in Lichfield yesterday where I discovered Lichfield Cathedral. I didn't even know Lichfield had a cathedral. And a mighty fine specimen it is too. Seeking solace in these magnificent buildings is not the sort of thing my peers put on their bucket lists. And thank the fucking Lord for that. Which is precisely why I shall seek them out - all 97 of them - on future excursions. Amen to that.
★
St. Chad (634-672)
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