Istanbul (2): The Cistern and the Dolmabahçe Palace

A Roman Cistern, Museums of Oriental History & Archaeology and a 19th Century Ottoman Palace

Turkey

Istanbul is home to some of the world’s greatest mosques; it was, however, one of the smallest that most affected our stay. The Direkli Mosque, fifty metres from our hotel, may be tiny and the minaret may be merely a token, but it possesses a state of the art sound system. Dawn prayers were called, it seemed, by a muezzin sitting on the end of our bed.

The tourist heart of Istanbul. The Cistern and Museums are on the Sultanahmet Peninsula, then across the Golden Horn to the Dolmabache Palace

The Basilica Cistern, Istanbul

After breakfast, we walked back into Sultanahmet, this time heading for the Basilica Cistern. Built by Justinian in 532 AD to supply water to the Great Palace, the cistern was lost during Ottoman rule but rediscovered when they found the locals going fishing in their basements.

The Basilica Cistern, Istanbul

Descending the 52 stone steps, we entered a cavern considerably larger than a football pitch, its 9 m high roof supported by 336 columns. Fed by a system of aqueducts from a source 20 Km north of the city, the water is currently about a metre deep. When in use it was considerably deeper, but there is still ample to provide a home for hundreds, if not thousands, of carp. Walkways allow the visitor to stroll between the columns to the present end of the cistern (a third of it was bricked up in the nineteenth century). The columns are a mixed bunch, being recycled from various sites in Constantinople and further away. Two, at the far end, have been placed on Medusa head pedestals. In one case the Medusa is inverted, in the other turned through 90º. The idea may have been to negate the petrifying power of the Gorgon’s gaze, or perhaps it was the easiest way to make them fit. Opinions are divided.

Inverted Medusa head pedestal, Basilica Cistern, Istanbul

Istanbul Museums of Oriental History and Archaeology

Back at ground level we made our way to Gülhane Park which surrounds the Topkapı Palace (the dotless i indicating a vowel unstressed almost to the state of nonexistence) and found our way to the buildings containing Istanbul’s archaeological treasures.

Shalmanezer IV, Museum of Archaeology, Istanbul

The Museum of Oriental history concentrates on the Babylonians and Assyrians, and has a truly remarkable display. The glazed friezes from Babylon’s Ishtar Gate caused some excitement, but the Assyrians are Lynne’s specialist subject and she was thrilled to find all her heroes were there; particularly Sennacherib, Shalmaneser IV and Tiglath-Pileser III. These 8th and 9th century BC kings were present as statues and also represented by the clay tablets so carefully scratched out in the cuneiform writing Lynne learned to read and translate at university.

Babylonian lion, Museum of Archaeology, Istanbul

It is a shame that most of the names we know from the dawn of history are of warriors with outsized egos. The contribution to human progress of Sennacherib and his cohorts was, I suspect, largely negative. I also never cease to be amazed that at least three times in history doting parents have looked at their newborn son lying gurgling in his crib and one of them has murmured, ‘I know, we’ll call him Tiglath-Pileser’.

Alexander sarcophagus, Museum of Oriental History, Istanbul

Across the courtyard, the Museum of Archaeology houses a collection of ‘more recent’ artefacts from Sidon in modern Lebanon. The featured exhibits are a series of elaborately carved marble sarcophagi. The finest shows Alexander the Great hunting on one side and fighting the Persians on another. There are also two busts of Alexander, which are, more or less, contemporary with him.

Busts of Alexander the Great

A Lunch of Sweeties, Istanbul

Outside the park we looked for a light lunch and found a faux-Ottoman nargile café where trendy youths puffed away at the water pipes which have recently become unaccountably fashionable. We settled for Turkish coffee (this time excellent), Baklava and a plate of mixed Turkish Delight. It looked pretty and tasted wonderful; as a lunch it may have been low on fibre, but there was plenty of sugar.

Light lunch with ample sugar
Baklava, Turlish Delight and sweet Turkish coffee
Istanbul

The Dolmabahçe Palace, Istanbul

We took the tram down to the Golden Horn, across the Galata Bridge and on to the end of the line. A ten-minute walk past the Beşiktaş Football Stadium brought us to the Dolmabahçe Palace.

Here comes the tram
Sultanahmet, Istanbul

The Ottoman Empire reached its zenith in 1529 when the armies of Süleyman the Magnificent reached the gates of Vienna. His son, Selim the Sot, seemed less capable of focussing on military expansion - or indeed on anything at all. For three hundred years the Ottoman Empire, like the Byzantine Empire before it, gradually decreased in size, power and wealth.

Realising they were falling behind, a series of nineteenth century sultans set about reform and modernisation, importing European ideas wholesale. In 1856 Abdül Mecit I decided the latest phase of modernisation would involve moving out of the Topkapı Palace, the homes of the Sultans since the fifteenth century, and building himself a whacking great European style palace beside the Bosphorus. Exactly how he thought this would help, particularly as he lacked the money to pay for it, is a mystery.

Lynne at the Dolmabahçe Palace, Istanbul

The Dolmabahçe Palace, the fruits of Abdül Mecit’s labour, is huge and magnificent, or at least it hangs somewhere between magnificence and bad taste. Despite being built largely in the baroque style the palace includes harem quarters, suggesting the sultan’s commitment to Europeanisation was, at most, partial.

Inside the entrance is a salon where visiting ambassadors waited to see the emperor. It was built to impress. We walked through the ground floor offices before climbing to the Sultan’s quarters via the ‘crystal staircase’, a double horseshoe staircase with balusters of Baccarat crystal. The Sultan clearly intended to live in comfort, but his main bathroom, carved from solid alabaster, may have been better to look at than to use.

After the First World War put an end to the Ottoman Empire, Kemal Atatürk, the father of modern Turkey, had an apartment in the palace. He died there at 9.05 on the 10th of November 1938. Officially, all the palace clocks are stopped at 9.05. Unofficially, that is not quite true; it seems beyond the wit of humanity to have all the clocks telling the same time, even when they are stopped.

The Dolmabahçe Palace, Istanbul

We descended to the Ceremonial Hall, designed to hold receptions for up to 2500 people and lit by the largest chandelier in Europe, all four and a half tonnes of it. Although it was made in England, Trotter’s Independent Traders did not win the contract to clean it. The hall is a huge domed room, but only the third largest domed room we had seen in the previous thirty hours.

For a while we sat in the gardens in the sunshine watching a couple of dolphins making their way up the Bosphorus. It was almost warm enough for Lynne to remove her pullover, but not quite.

A place to sit and watch dolphins
Bosphorus Gate, Dolmabahçe Palace, Istanbul

Hot Chestnuts, A Lonely Dinner but a Better Dessert

The tram took us home, perhaps not by the most direct route, but certainly the quickest. In the square by the Beyazit tram stop we bought some hot chestnuts; their sweet chewy flesh a perfect accompaniment to a drink before dinner. Hot chestnuts stands are common on the streets of Istanbul; I do not know if they have disappeared from English streets or I now live in the wrong place. If they have gone away, they should be brought back immediately.

For dinner we let a tout con us into a restaurant on the fourth floor of a nearby hotel. There was nothing obviously wrong with the restaurant, it was smart and well appointed - but empty. We ordered different lamb dishes which were satisfactory and reasonably priced, but there is little pleasure in being the only customers in an empty restaurant. After our main course the management seemed to lose interest in us, so we paid the bill and did what many Turkish people do, we went to a café for dessert. A glass of tea and a mixed plate of Baklava and Kadayıf is about as good as desserts get. The usual description of Kadayıf as ‘shredded wheat soaked in syrup’ does scant justice to its sticky loveliness.

Before turning in we checked the weather forecast. Almost the whole of southern Europe had spent the day bathed in warm sunshine, temperatures in Rome and Madrid had been in the high twenties and even in the north, temperatures over 20º were expected to continue in London and Birmingham. The exception to this rosy picture was Europe’s southeast corner. Being so far south and relatively close to the Mediterranean I had naively expected sunshine, but Istanbul was forecast to be no warmer than 14º - though rain was, fortunately, considered unlikely.

Istanbul

Part 1: The Blue Mosque, Haghia Sofia and the Bosphorus

Part 2: The Cistern and the Dolmabahçe Palace

Part 3: The Topkapı Palace and The Grand Bazaar
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Part 4: Taksim Square and the Galata Tower (Aug 2014)

Istanbul (1): The Blue Mosque, Haghia Sofia and the Bosphorus

The Capital of Two Once Mighty Empires and a Channel that Divides Europe from Asia

Introducing Istanbul

Turkey

Istanbul is vast. The homes and businesses of its fifteen million inhabitants - twenty per cent of the entire Turkish population - cover both sides of the Bosphorus and sprawl down the European coast of the Sea of Marmara. The centre and most of the history is on the European side which is split by the Golden Horn, a magnificent name for a modest jellyfish-filled creek running into the Bosphorus. To the north is the modern centre, to the south, on an easily defended peninsula bounded by the Golden Horn, the Bosphorus and the Sea of Marmara, is the ancient capital of first the Byzantine and then the Ottoman Empires.

Istanbul on the South East Corner of Europe

Sultanahmet Peninsula

Old Istanbul has narrow, cobbled streets, mosques by the hundred, bazaars by the dozen, and one modern - if usually packed - tramway running round its edge.

The tourist heart of Istanbul. This post is about the Sultanahmet peninsula and the Bosphorus

The Column of Constantine

On our first morning we walked from our hotel to the tip of the peninsula. We followed the tramway and passed the Column of Constantine on the way. Erected in 330 AD in what was then the forum, it once supported Constantine dressed as Apollo. He fell off in 1107 and the 35m stump, though carefully preserved, looks rather forlorn, crammed between tramway and shops. Interred in the concrete base is the axe Noah used to make the Ark, Mary Magdalene’s oil phial and the leftovers from the feeding of the five thousand. If you believe that, you may also believe it contains one of Shergar's hooves and Lord Lucan's left arm.

Constantine's Column, Istanbul

Hippodrome

Peeling away from the tramway, we descended the hill to the hippodrome. Built in 200 AD, little now remains of the 100,000 seat stadium but the space is preserved, as are some of the monuments marking the spina, including the obligatory looted Egyptian obelisk.

The obligatory looted Egyptian obelisk
Hippodrome, Istanbul

Turkish football fans are renowned for occasionally losing their sense of proportion, but they are nothing compared to the fans of chariot racing. Fighting between ‘the Blues’ and ‘the Greens’ in 532 developed into the Nika Revolt. The Emperor Justinian eventually restored order by massacring 30,000 Greens in the Hippodrome. Given the number of tourists it is hardly a peaceful place today, but it is free of murderous Romans.

The Byzantine and Ottoman Empires

Byzantium was founded in the 7th century BC and spent its first millennium as an increasingly prosperous trading centre. It was of no great political importance until being rebuilt in the early 4th century AD by the Roman Emperor Constantine, who modestly renamed it Constantinople. In 395 the Roman Empire split and the city became first the eastern capital and then, when the western empire disintegrated in 476, the sole capital. It seems inappropriate that a Greek speaking empire that did not include Rome was still known as the Roman Empire, but that is what its citizens called it. It was not dubbed the 'Byzantine Empire' until a century after its destruction - and that was equally inappropriate as the name 'Byzantium' had dropped out of use two hundred years before the empire came into existence. The doubly misnamed empire reached its zenith under Justinian, he of the Hippodrome massacre. Throughout most of the Middle Ages, Constantinople was Europe’s largest and richest city, but the empire was undergoing a slow but inexorable decline. By 1453 nothing was left but the city, now surrounded by the emerging Ottoman Empire.

Mehmet the Conqueror took Constantinople for the Ottomans in 1453; the resulting westward flight of the city’s cultured elite helping to kick-start the Renaissance.

The Blue Mosque

The great palace of the Byzantine Emperors stood next to the hippodrome, on the site now occupied by the Blue Mosque. Built between 1609 and 1616 for Sultan Ahmet I it was the last great mosque of the Ottoman classical period. It was criticised for its size and splendour at a time when the empire was struggling, and for its six minarets – a sacrilegious attempt to rival the architecture of Mecca.

A graceful cascade of domes and semi-domes
The Blue Mosque, Istanbul

We entered the walled courtyard, which covers an area as the big as the mosque itself. From here the building, too big to photograph satisfactorily, is a graceful cascade of domes and semi-domes. It remains an active mosque so there is no entrance fee, but that does not mean there no queue. Leaving the courtyard we found the eastern entrance and a patient line of people waiting to funnel through a narrow arch. As in all mosques visitors are required to remove their shoes, but with the number of tourists and a one way system in operation the usual system of leaving your shoes in a rack is not practical. We filed past the plastic bag dispenser and took a bag each. Based on a non-randomised sample of two it would seem that 100% of the handles break as soon as you try to carry your shoes, so you end up clutching them to your chest. Signs request women to cover their heads; scarves were available, but those who reached for them were told, ‘no need, don’t bother’.

The dome of the Blue Mosque, Istanbul

The blue tiles that gave the Mosque its name dominate the vast interior, but there are pinks and greens, too and they along with over 250 windows give a feeling of space and light. The huge interior sits under a vast dome set upon another even bigger dome supported by ‘elephant leg’ pillars, too fat to be elegant. Despite this, and the crowd, it has an air of calmness and serenity.

At the exit you find yourself looking across 200 metres of gardens at another massive domed building.

Hagia Sophia

The first Hagia Sophia burnt down in 404 and the second was destroyed in the Nika Revolt of 532. Justinian, being a devout Christian (the sort of devout Christian who murders 30,000 people in a hippodrome), immediately set about building a new church. Completed in 536 it is considered the greatest architectural achievement of the Byzantine Empire and it is obvious how much the Blue Mosque, built over a thousand years later, owes to its neighbour.

Hagia Sophia, Istanbul

With the arrival of the Ottomans, Hagia Sophia became a mosque. The four minarets, rockets on ugly concrete pedestals, added little architecturally, while internally Islamic decorations were added but the ancient Christian mosaics were left undamaged. In 1935 the building was secularised and is now a museum.[Update:It became a mosque again in July 2020]

We sat in a café between the two buildings watching the empty tour buses roll past. They drop their cargo outside the Blue Mosque and pick them up again after Hagia Sophia. After drinking Turkish coffee in many different places, this was our first in Turkey. It was disappointing, but that is what you get for using a café in the heart of the tourist area.

Queue negotiated and money paid we entered Hagia Sophia. The space inside is even bigger than the Blue Mosque but just as crowded. Fewer windows and the lack of shiny tiles mean the interior is dark and sombre. The floor plan is clearly that of a basilica, but the fittings are Islamic. There is a mihrab to locate the direction of Mecca, a minbar – performing the same function as a pulpit, but very differently designed – and marble platforms for reading the Koran. A marble circle marks the spot where the Byzantine emperors were crowned. This is the omphalos, the centre of the world. The last time we visited the centre of the world it was in Beijing, on the spot where Chinese emperors were crowned. Travellers may notice inconsistencies in mondial centrality, but the ego of emperors varies little. Above, Christian mosaics sit easily alongside Arabic calligraphy.

Lynne at the Centre of the World?
Ompholos, Hagia Sophia, Istanbul

A gallery affords a closer look at some mosaics and reveals others that cannot be seen from the ground. Over a thousand years old, they have been recently restored and are a remarkable sight. An exhibition of photographs of the restored mosaics stands in the north gallery. Photographer Ahmet Ertuğ’s work is impressive and connoisseurs of irony can enjoy watching people photographing photographs while standing with their backs to the originals.

Constantine, Virgin & Child, Justinian
Hagia Sophia, Istanbul

Lunch in Sultanahmet

Like any tourist honey pot, Sultanahmet offers a wide range of overpriced restaurants serving mediocre food. We were pleased to find a rooftop terrace which provided a reasonably priced cheese salad and a beer. To quote our daughter Siân, ‘Turkish food is meat, bread and salad in varying combinations’. The meat tends towards dullness, but the bread is good and varied, white and brown, flat breads and leavened breads, and the salads are crisp and fresh, containing something apparently unobtainable in England – tomatoes that actually taste of tomato.

Rooftop terrace overlooking Hagia Sophia, Istanbul

The Golden Horn and an Afternoon Trip on the Bosphorus

As the sun was shining, though it was not warm, we decided on an afternoon trip on the Bosphorus, so we walked down to the Golden Horn. The waterbuses have their berths around the Galata bridge, and those doing trips for tourists soon make themselves known to any obvious stranger.

Surprisingly, most of our fellow cruisers were Turkish. The sun shone from a largely blue sky, but the wind was keen and we huddled together on the open deck. Pulling away, we looked back at the Süleymaniye mosque on its hill above the dock. Finer than the Blue Mosque, though less visited, its profile is the most instantly recognisable view of Istanbul. We passed under the Galata bridge, dodging the dangling lines from the fishermen above, and made our way across the Bosphorus to Üsküdar, better known in English as Scutari where the Selimiye barracks, the site of Florence Nightingale’s hospital, still stand.

The Galata Bridge over the Golden Horn, Istanbul

The Bosphorus is 30 Km long and in some places as narrow as 600 m. We passed under the first Bosphorus bridge and cruised north along the Asian shore for an hour to the Fatih Sultan Mehmet suspension bridge built where the Persian emperor Darius assembled a pontoon bridge on his way to invade Greece. Nearby is an Ottoman castle constructed in 1452 just before the assault on the city. We returned along the European shore. Both shores are lined with the houses of the wealthy. On the Asian side there are a couple of nineteenth century palaces, while on both sides there are carefully landscaped neighbourhoods of large, comfortable modern dwellings.

Beylerbeyi Palace beside the Bosphorus

Our walk back across the centre of the peninsula took us through both the Spice Market and the Grand Bazaar, of which more later. That night we dined at a Lokanta, a cheap restaurant where much of the food is displayed in metal containers by the entrance. Neither of us ever eats Doner Kebab (or, in Turkish, Kebap) at home, but we made an exception because we were in Turkey. We felt no need to repeat the experiment.

Leavings the Fatih Sultan Mehmet bridge, Bosphorus

Istanbul

Part 1: The Blue Mosque, Haghia Sofia and the Bosphorus

Part 2: The Cistern and the Dolmabahçe Palace

Part 3: The Topkapı Palace and The Grand Bazaar
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Part 4: Taksim Square and the Galata Tower (Aug 2014)

Republican* Ramble Round Ramshaw Rocks

* Trans-Atlantic readers should, on no account, attempt to interpret this word in an American context.

The Roaches, Gib Torr and the Ramshaws, Staffordshire Rocks

Where are We, and Why are We Here on this of All Days?

Staffordshire

Staffordshire
Moorlands

I wish Kate and Woss-is-name all the best, I really do, though I don’t actually know them. I am always happy to attend the wedding celebrations of any relative or friend who is kind enough to invite me, but my appetite for watching the televised splicing of a pair of complete strangers is minimal, to say the least.

So I bade a fond farewell to Lynne, royalist, romantic and, for yesterday at least, couch-potato and with the words ‘miserable old git’ ringing in my ears drove to Stone. There, by pre-arranged coincidence, I met Lee, Francis and Brian whose misery and gittishness matched mine. Lee drove us through Longton and Leek to the Peak District where there were no flag waving crowds, no sycophantic television presenters and no silly hats.

I will not claim that every member of the party believes that in a mature democracy the people should be trusted to choose the figurehead of state rather than leaving it to an accident of birth, so maybe ‘Republican Ramble’ is a slight exaggeration, but with royalists sprawled over every television channel not devoted to shopping, I feel justified.

We are fortunate in not only having Cannock Chase, Britain’s smallest Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty within twenty minutes drive, but also having the 500 square miles of the Peak District, our oldest National Park, less than an hour away.

Despite its name the Peak District contains few real peaks – nor is this southern section, The White Peak, particularly white - but the two kilometre long rocky outcrop of the Roaches, with the detached hill of Hen Cloud at one end is a dramatic landmark visible from miles around.

The Roaches, Peak District National Park

From the lay-by outside the Roaches Tea Room – of which more later – we walked up into the gap between Hen Cloud and the Roaches. On the penultimate day of the warmest and driest April on record the sun shone, as we have come to expect, but a strong north east wind with a distinctly bitter edge was enough to induce a few shivers.

Going up

A little higher up there is a view across Hen Cloud.

Hen Cloud from the Roaches

Here the path levels off and runs below the ridge through a stand of larches, like a strangely misplaced Japanese garden. Sheltered from the wind this was a very pleasant stroll.

A strangely misplaced Japanese garden

The Roaches is much frequented by rock climbers. Our two hundred metre climb to the highest point of the ridge may not have require ropes, but it was steep enough to justify my use of poles and to ensure most breath was reserved for walking. A little remained available for moaning about the wind but none was spent speculating about Kate’s dress, what she was thinking or the state of Wills’ nerves.

We were soon up on the top where the wind brought tears to the eye and threatened to blow my hat – and possibly me as well - into the valley below. So why does it look so calm in my photo?

On top of the Roaches, looking calmer than it felt

The walk along the top, past the trig point marking the highest point at 505m and down to Roache End 100m.

On top of the Roaches

Descending at the end of the Roaches we found a dry-stone wall where we could sit out of the wind and drink some coffee. Francis moved away to water another section of the wall. Five minutes later, a wind-swept party crossed the stile and commented on our snug position. They walked on and sat down at the exact spot where Francis had taken his pee. We didn’t like to tell them - they looked so comfy - and what they eye doesn’t see……

From here the usual route is eastwards, towards the well kept beers of the Ship in Danebridge, but for once we went the other way, descending into the valley...

Into the valley

towards Black Brook in the deep valley behind the Roaches.

Francis crosses Black Brook

The path, sometimes rocky, sometimes sandy, descends gently through the heather. Two thirds of the way down and far away to our right I heard my first cuckoo of the spring. Nobody else seemed that convinced. A minute later, much closer and to our left there was no doubt. Hearing a cuckoo is always pleasing but hardly unusual, actually seeing one is rare. It flew, barely thirty metres away, from one tree to the next. Brian, a birder for many years, claimed a ‘lifer’, saying it was his first ever cuckoo. Francis and Brian each raised several hundred pounds worth of binoculars. Lee peered through a pair he bought for £20 at a car boot sale. I just squinted upwards. When a bird sits on the far side of a tree in full leaf, it matters little how much you paid for your binoculars; it was as invisible to Francis’ precision optics as it was to my naked eye.

Lee looks for an invisible cuckoo

We followed the stream to the sound of curlews, usually easier to spot than cuckoos but hiding on this occasion and past Goldsitch house, which was surrounded by a swirl of swallows (we spotted the first of these three weeks ago near Milwich). Francis confidently identified a bird on a telephone wire as being a willow warbler. It was not much to look at, but it made a big noise for a small bird.

Climbing towards Gib Torr we encountered an area of peat bog, though the exceptionally dry April had turned the usual treacherous stickiness into a springy carpet. We heard a red grouse, which strangely likes this sort of territory, and watched it settle on the rocks, clearly visible against the skyline.

Gib Torr Rocks

From Gib Tor Rocks we descended to the minor road and thence to the A53 at The Royal Cottage, a pub that is not actually closed but never seems to be open – even on a royal day such as this. A hundred metres further on the more welcoming Winking Man provided a well-priced sandwich and relatively cheap pint of Black Sheep or Hancocks HB (choices and opinions were divided).

The pub is named after a formation on the Ramshaw rocks and that was where we headed after lunch. Although close to the A53 we approached the rocks by first following a minor road into the moorland to allow a more gentle ascent from the north east. Having safely negotiated a morning of rocky paths, some of them quite steep and tricky, it was on the flat metalled road that I turned my ankle. It was painful and accompanied by a worryingly loud crunching noise.

I continued, hoping to walk it off. We climbed through the heather and up onto the rocks. The Ramshaw Rocks are as high as the Roaches but stand out less from the surrounding elevated moorland. They are also a gritstone outcrop, but more twisted and weathered than the Roaches and dramatic in their own quiet way. The Winking Man resembles a face with a hole for the eye but passing above it we missed the best view. There was another rock, however, which had a wink that seemed more convincing than a mere hole.

Not really the Winking Man

The descent was steep and difficult, particularly when trying to protect arthritic knees and an increasingly sore ankle. It was slow going, for me at least, and the others had to wait at the bottom – for which I apologise.

Among the Ramshaw Rocks

From here we dropped into a pretty dell behind Hen Cloud, worked our way round to the gap before the Roaches and back down to the road where a Park Ranger had set up some impressive telescopes and cameras in a lay-by. A pair of peregrine falcons is nesting on Hen Cloud for the third successive year and after raising three chicks from five eggs last year it is hoped that they have settled there. Despite his equipment, the ranger had seen neither the peregrines nor the resident kestrel. All he had to show us was jackdaws wheeling across the crag face. Jackdaws are regular visitors to my garden bird feeder, so I was not that excited.

Into the dell behind Hen Cloud

A detour into the Roaches Tea Room was now obligatory. Some had cake while others - well Brian (Hilary please note) - settled for just a cup of tea. We had a pot of Earl Grey, originally blended for the nineteenth century Prime Minister of that name who may have been an aristocrat but was nevertheless a thoroughgoing democrat (Great Reform Act 1832). Lee had a latte, which is not named after the legendary Italian reformer Giuseppe Latte. By the time we moved on, my ankle had stiffened up considerably.

I spent the evening with my elevated leg attached to an ice pack. I woke this morning to see my ankle swollen and a bruise beginning to form. Below the bone is an angry red cross over a blue background against the whiteness of flesh that rarely sees the sun. It may be God’s way of telling me that He picks the head of state round here and I should accept it with due reverence. On the other hand (or rather foot) it might just be a bruise.