Rich church mice

I pulled yesterday's post because it didn't get the lighthearted response I was hoping for. It also attracted some unwanted attention from the Minster Speedwatch team. You know when you give a child a Christmas present and all they are interested in is playing with the box it came in?

That church which entangled a rainbow in the previous post is my least favourite church in Bath. Even if I were blind and could not see it through the window, it would constantly remind me of itself every Sunday morning and Thursday evening. There is no ignoring it. They are the most badly-tuned bells I have ever heard and they are rung by some of the most mediocre ringers.

St Michael's Without is so named because it is outside of the city's medieval walls. From a strictly parochial viewpoint, every church in the world could be subtitled 'without', but this one is only just without, so the name applies to it only. Where I live is neither within or without as our house is built on the foundation of the medieval wall.

The present building is its third reincarnation. The original (12th - 17th C.?) collapsed for some reason, and was rebuilt in the 18th century. The Victorians thought that the humble 18th century version was not grand enough for the city's status, so demolished it and built the ostentatious and vulgar thing we see today. If you look up at the spire from Green Street you will notice a distinct kink about 10 feet from the weathervane. This was the beginning of the second collapse, but was it sadly halted by a steel reinforcing structure on the inside a few years ago.

The Victorians saved all the wonderful stone and marble monumental wall plaques from the church they demolished and placed them on the walls of the new church. They are the only thing worth looking at inside or out, but the outside is photographed thousands of times a day by tourists who know no better.

The latest vicar has introduced a cafe to the rear end of the nave (I cannot remember which is the compass point because it is the only church in the country not set on an East/West axis) where you can drink tea and coffee with cakes and sandwiches. When I was young it was considered sacrilege to eat anything other than a wafer inside a church, hence the expression, 'poor as a church mouse'. The cafe is advertised on the outside with a large banner attached to the railings, and it reads, 'St Mike's Cafe'. Oh, Jesus. 

I won't bother to put up a photo of it, as you have seen plenty before - usually with a Peregrine Falcon perched on top. If you ever want to peer into a Peregrine Falcon's arse from beneath, St Michael's Without is the place for you.