I arrived early at Kings X station and ordered a coffee. I rarely arrive late but I expect to have to wait for Jon. We are creatures of habit. Jon always complains about his sister-in-law who seems to frequently not arrive at all according to his stories about her. I’m not sure if this is entirely true. He might just be deflecting attention for his own lack of punctuality.
We are meeting up here, our usual spot, in order to discuss our forthcoming trip to Trieste. Unfortunately Garry has had to cry off for babysitting duties for his son Dom who is up for an award for his recently launched drink Alloah. Good luck to him. And he won the top prize. I’m not sure what that happened to be.
From Kings X we walked to the Mithareum under the Bloomberg building. The Mithareum sits 7 metres under the current street level. When the place was first constructed when Rome occupied London it stood at ground level. Over the nearly 2000 years since then London has deposited 7 metres of material on top.
When you first walk around and then enter the Mithareum you realise how much money the Bloomberg organisation makes each year. The place oozes wealth from the doors to the toilets everything exudes expense.
You are allotted a short time inside the reconstruction of the Mithareum, a temple to the cult of Mithras who kills the sacred bull by jumping on its back and stabbing it. The experts don’t know what beliefs surrounded this cult because there are no written records associated with it.
The presentation inside the Mithareum lasts for six minutes. During that time you hear various Latin chants watch lighting display the altar to the deity and a mist descends. A guide stands at the door to answer your questions. I thought that perhaps the trenches inside the structure had been filled with water but she assured me that there was a floor on which the believers sat according to status. The most important at the front nearest the priest.
We left after spending about 40 minutes in the place and then looked out for somewhere to eat. We walked towards the Thames and found a pub by the water called The Banker where we had a pint and sandwich. The sandwich came with chips. I ate everything. But I couldn’t finish my second pint and as I walked away I felt a nasty feeling in my stomach. Indigestion from the excessive amount of fat that I’d consumed.
While the discussion roamed from Nick’s new interest in learning Ancient Greek we did get round to talking about our trip to Trieste. We decided not to stay in Venice but to split our time between Nova Gorvik and Trieste, not to bother to hire a car but travel everywhere by train.
I walked back to St Paul’s tube station and made my way home.