It's beautiful, and easy to see why John Betjeman loved it so much, and why Ian Nairn compared it to an orgasm in his book, Nairn's London (cover image), because it could "only be understood in terms of compelling, overwhelming passion." Unfortunately, it's also very dark inside, due to a combination of dark walls and dim lights, so it took a long time for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, and for me to figure out the best settings on my camera to get any pictures at all. You'd really need a tripod to get anything good, though. Maybe I should go back with one. More photos here.

My final Open House visit of this year was to Wilton's Music Hall, and although it was a bit of a trek to get there, it was worth it. It's famously shabby and rundown — in fact, parts of the building are still derelict and off-limits, but I liked the bits I got to see, even if the walls were peeling paint and the stairs were uneven. Actually, that was what I liked about it, and I suspect most of the other people felt the same way, judging by how crowded the cafe was. There's something funny about seeing so many people quite happily sitting down to tea and cake in a place that they would usually find rather abhorrent — how many people do you know whose idea of fun is to take tea in a semi-derelict slum building?

Unfortunately, it was yet another place that was extremely dimly-lit, which made for a wonderfully evocative atmosphere, but yet more mostly awful photos. I got some nice ones of the walls outside, though, which are in a beautiful state of decay — a wonderful contrast of colours and textures. If you like that sort of thing, which I obviously do! More Wilton's photos here.

All of this year's Open House photos can be seen here. The whole set of photos from 2005-2008 can be seen here.

As usual, there were loads of places that I wanted to see and didn't manage to get to, and although I tell myself I'll make the effort to ensure I do get to them next year, I know I probably won't. But that's the great thing about Open House: there's so much to see that it doesn't really matter too much if you miss something. There's always something else. Which is worth reminding yourself of in other situations, too, isn't it?

Final stop of Saturday's Opeb House visits was the spire at St. Anne's Soho, which is pretty much the only bit of the original church that's left after it was bombed in WW2. The staircases to reach the top are both incredibly narrow and steep, and unfortunately there's no view from the top, but we could see the full workings of the clock which was pretty cool, and there was an interesting slideshow on view, from the Museum of Soho (some of which you can see here). More of my St. Anne's photos are here.

On Sunday I'd planned to go start at Bevis Marks Synagogue in the City, but it was too late to get there by the time I'd left the house because it closed early, so I wandered westwards instead, and went to the Rudolph Steiner House, instead, which meant, rather ironically, that I swapped Judaism for Steinerism just like my great-grandmother, Maude.

It's a lovely building, which has often caught my eye as I passed by on the bus. Described as the only Expressionist building in London, it looks like a cross between Art Nouveau and Art Deco, and is quite reminiscent of Antoni Gaudi's architecture, although a lot less exuberant or visually OTT. As I understand it, from what one of the Open House volunteers told me, Steiner took inspiration from plants and natural forms and rejected square lines, preferring to convert them into curves wherever possible. However, it's clear that he didn't reject them completely, because it's not very practical to build a useable urban structure without them. It's these inescapable straight lines combined with the desired curves that gives the building its elegance, especially inside. It's a beautifully strong form, with clean and decisive lines, which is kind of ironic, because so much of the artwork that comes out of Steinerism is awfully wishy-washy.

In fact, it was a lovely place to visit, until I wandered into the newly-built cafe, where a woman behind the counter accosted me as I was taking photos and I asked if I was an architect. Why do I have to be an architect to appreciate architecture? On finding that I wasn't, she insisted on making it her mission to inform me about biodynamic food, refusing to let me leave until I'd taken a leaflet. Annoying woman. It's people like that who give things like Steinerism a bad name. But don't let that put you off having a look at the building if you get a chance. It's rather special, especially the central staircase. More pictures here.

My first stop was St. Martin's Gospel Oak, which I chose because I thought I'd start local — I can also see its steeple from my kitchen window — and because I was intrigued by its description as "the craziest Victorian church in London." I was expecting it to have a colourful interior or really way out architectural features, but it doesn't. In fact, it's pretty dull from the outside and, although it does have a few pretty mosaics, it's not very colourful inside. It does have a nice vaulted ceiling, which is quite unusual in style, but is not particularly "crazy" so I was a bit disappointed. There was an old man with his old dog, which was quite nice to see, because most churches don't seem that dog-friendly.

Second stop was the Alexandra & Ainsworth Estate, off Abbey Road, a concrete housing estate built in the late seventies. It's a famous estate, and usually represented in brutalist style, but that's not really what it's like, or what the architect, Neave Brown intended. It's a surprisingly pretty place, despite the grey concrete, with a Mediterranean atmosphere that was enhanced by the gorgeous blue skies and warm sunshine of that particular day.

Every flat has its own balcony, built to a generous size to make it an extra room, and most of the balconies were dripping with green leaves and bright flowers, making a potentially grim and grey place very pleasant (of course, it's probably not quite so nice on a cold grey winter's day when all the plants have shed their leaves and flowers). On top of that, there are communal areas to sit outdoors, and I passed one family having a picnic in the sun. The original design features of the flats were quite nifty, too, with sliding walls to enlarge spaces, and in-wall heating rather than radiators. It's no wonder that flats there are highly sought-after these days.

And then onto Mayfair and the Royal Institution, open to the public for the first time since its refurbishment. Its location, along with the creamy-white porticoes and the Union Jack flying over the door, suggest that its interior will be staid and conservative, but it's bursting with bright colour inside. There's a pretty staircase which greets you as you enter, with a bright blue ceiling and a chandelier and a wrought iron bannister, and rooms off to the side with loudly checkered floors and purple walls. Next to the toilets there's an enormous reproduction of the £20 note with Michael Faraday's face on it, which was a bit unexpected when I turned the corner.

Upstairs there are library rooms and book-lined corridors with strange artefacts on display, and there's a museum in the basement with even stranger artefacts to look at (which I intend to go back to when I have more time). And then there's the lecture theatre, with its steep banks of purple seats and pretty art deco lights. Not to mention a small cafe, and a rather fabulous looking restaurant and bar, which straddles the fine line between classy tastefulness and outright tackiness with some aplomb. I can't wait to go there for cocktails.