I was out for a stroll again today. I don’t like taking the same walk twice, and always try to vary my route. Today I thought I would take a look at woolwich barracks where they are holding some of the Olympic events. I was hoping to brag myself An Atos lanyard, for reasons that I hope will be made apparent soon. Anyway, it was a pleasant enough role, but the sight was almost deserted so I thought I would press on. I turned down a road which I had never explored before. It was a wide enough road, running between the barracks and Woolwich, but about halfway down I came across something which fascinated me.

I found a church, or what remained of one, by the road. It had no roof, and it’s walls were crumbling. Yet there was a beauty to it: you could still see the ornate decoration on it’s inner wall. According to a plaque on the back wall, this church had been hit by a flying bomb in the war and, being consecrated ground, had been left as it was. There was thus something ghostlike to it, something ethereal; not frightening, but timeless. It was as if on this spot, time had stopped.

I was struck too by the way I had just happened upon it. London has that habit – it surprises you. Every now and then, this city springs something on you, something beautiful and fascinating. It is a strange mix of old and new, beautiful and depraved, which has caused me to fall in love with this city. There is also a timelessness to it: you can walk along streets lined with ultra-modern shops selling the latest fashions, yet somehow you are also aware that those streets were once trod in Elizabethan and Victorian heels. You can never forget this place has a past: modern apartment blocks loom over ancient terraces; walk up one street and you find an office building, walk down another and you find the burned out shell of an ancient pub, where the last pint was pulled a century ago but which still bears it’s signs.

Such juxtapositions, such contrasts of modernity and history, fascinate me. I used to think I loved the country. Coming from a small town in rural Cheshire, I loved the fields and woods and rivers and small winding lanes. Part of me still does. But where I was once intimidated by cities, fear has become curiosity, and curiosity has developed into love. There is so much here to explore, so many contrasts, an almost endless variety. I can see now how one can love a city.