Today's excursion has a side-plot. I did not even know of this Roman ruin within a 4 minute walk of the station I most frequently use into London, until it was drawn to my attention by a potential internet date.
That internet date when 'shplat' about 3 days before we were due to meet, in no small part - I am certain - down to my own subconscious sabotage. He said he would be there anyway. I did not reply, and did not intend to be there myself.
Until I woke up this morning hankering for a kooky little adventure and thinking this might be it. We never settled upon a time, I have no idea what he looks like, and he is near certain that I will not be there, so outside of an 80's rom-com, this is set to be a simple visit to a Roman ruin. But one I havent seen before nonetheless.
I am instantly interested to learn about this Mithras fellow, because I remember his name coming up somewhat frequently during my formulative years of RPG gameplaying. Mithral steel was my favourite armour because it tended to be a middle ground between unprotective light armour and obstructive heavy armour, plus tended to be more susceptible to magical charms... **Damnit Fluffy! Shh! You are entirely outing your inner nerd!!**
Upon arrival to the London Mithraeum - a 3 minute walk from Cannon Street station - I am greeted at the door by a helper who manages to be both approachable and professional (A challenge to some; bloody impossible to me) He scans my ticket and guides me past the 'artists recreation of the roman city' wallpaper to a glass cabinet of the some of the artefacts found at this site, and shows me how to use the tablets beside the cabinet to look up the information on each one. It is a very modern approach to a museum exhibit. I like it for it's gimickry, but personally I like to gloss over all the information in front of me and then swoop in like a bird of prey if I see any of the key words that command my further inspection. Usually revolving around sex, food or medicinal herbology (I'm complicated)
After a while I pootle on downstairs to a dark room which describes the religion of Mithras to greater - though by no means great - detail. When I ensnare a receptive museum worker on the next level down later I find this is because most of the information they have on the subject is speculation.
The religion of Mithras is indicated by the symbol of Mithras killing a bull called the TAUROCTONY which functions in much the same way as the Christian crucifix. Like so many things about this religion, it is not 100% known whether Mithras is battling the bull or sacrificing the bull, but either way it is thought that spilling the blood of the bull was necessary for the future productiveness of the land and its people and Mithras was thought a hero for it.
Every twenty minutes a museum worker invites the congregation of tourists down to the next level which is the 'Temple Experience'.
It is a small room with a walkway over a small ruined structure which was initially found near enough this exact location before being moved elsewhere, then lovingly returned back here when the owner bought this building and stated the return of the ruin as part of the conditions of the sale.
It is dark when we enter, but a light show of sorts soon emits upon the ruins, as well as a background hubbub of sound thought to mimic what being in the temple must have sounded like all those centuries ago.
The Royal Observatory is on my way home and it's early, so I stop by to catch a Planetarium show. A steep uphill climb leads me into the 13:15 'Meet the neighbours' show. Being in the Planetarium is as pleasantly hypnotic and insightful as I remember it being. The speaker is clear and encouraging enough to appeal to her predominantly young audience and - much more importantly - Me! So much so that I intend to upgrade my £8 ticket to a £50 annual membership and catch the very next show until I walk head on into a queue across the foyer for it. Maybe when the kids are back at school.
The walk back out across the meticulously maintained Greenwich park stirs something akin to sentimentality in me. Greenwich has always been singularly my favourite of places and I truly wish I could afford to live there. Or, indeed, GO there. As reality would have it, I cannot, so b-line to Maze Hill station and return back to the dilapidated street of broken abandoned toys and chain smoking teen mums aloofly watching their webfooted offspring pinball off of parked and increasingly dented cars that is my home.
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