Sexy Food, Mediaeval Wonder and Modern Art

The timing of my breaks and the fact that I had had a substantial breakfast with a furtive half slice of fried bread meant that I never did buy the alluring buttercream coated sponge which tantalised me from the red light section of the sandwich counter in our staff restaurant. The single cherry eye of this gateau-whore temptress was still in my mind as pre-lunch rumbles assailed a stomach ready for the more attainable earthly pleasures. That stomach had not quite forgotten the teasing combination of fried bread and baked beans which, in a restaurant which can not consistently provide a draining spoon, are remarkably good.

With flashes of watery winter sunshine enough to convince me that something could be salvaged from the weekend, I had eschewed rest for a drive to Salisbury. We went specifically to see modern art at the cathedral but for now my mind wanted pizza and my eyes drew me to Boston Tea Party http://www.bostonteaparty.co.uk/ . This small chain of West Country restaurants serves excellent food if my burger was anything to go by (although Greg was not quite so impressed with his slightly dry macaroni cheese). Where the earlier cake had, confusingly, been a tart, the burger which reached my table with its promised accompaniments was a fully legal, highly skilled masseur soothing me towards a culinary orgasm.

Amusingly, the following is one of (and in my opinion, the most apposite) of several quotations adorning the dining room wall: 'Great restaurants are, of course, nothing but mouth-brothels. There is no point in going  to them if one intends to keep one's belt buckled' [Frederic Raphael]

Truly the burger was about as similar to the products of nearby Burger King as I am to the inhabitants of some far distant exo-planet; one of the best I have had and with a bun which was actually made of bread which appears to be unheard of these days on the high street.

Thus fortified and with the return of drizzle never far away, we entered the precincts of Salisbury Cathedral. Even on this dull day the sight of this extraordinary edifice on the approach from the south had been deeply inspiring. Even with no sunshine to make its stone glow in the manner of such buildings the inspiration is only magnified by proximity and, inside, however lacking in religious conviction, one is moved in a visceral way by an undefinable atmosphere. As a photogapher, I was moved even more as a thousand subjects presented themselves and my humble mini-tripod supported countless available light opportunities. I could have stayed for ever. Built to the glory of God, everything in and around the cathedral celebrates every aspect of human existence whether divinely created or not.

I had travelled to see and photograph 'Water-Towers' by Bruce Munro. In the cloisters of Salisbury cathedral he has found a stunningly sympathetic setting. I shot in available light and my first picture on review caused me a sharp intake of breath and a welling of tears. The work is remarkably engaging and adds to the atmosphere as well as drawing on that which is already there. I suggest you see it before February 27th.

Both stomach and soul had been satisfied so it was hard to resent the rain which accompanied the walk back to the Old George Mall and its car park. With or without a God, life is very good.