London...

...always looks its best in light rain. I lunched with an old friend at the Albert pub in Victoria Street, and we talked long and enjoyably over a very good steak-and-ale pie. On to Westminster Cathedral, where evening Mass was said without choir as the boys are away on holiday: there was something solid and downbeat and somehow very attractive about the simple and straightforward Mass, a rumble of London voices making the responses, lines of people coming up for Communion. I went to confession and, as so often happens, met a friend in the queue and we had one of those whispered conversations exchanging news and greetings. On to Parliament - under grey skies and scudding rain the warm sandstone looks warm and weathered and rather marvellous. Parliment Square is still a mess - the encampment of demonstrators (anti-war, anti-capitalism etc etc) has gone but there are hoardings up while the muck and rubbish they left is cleared and the grass allowed to grow again, and there is still a row of tents and banners and placards facing the Houses of Parliament. The Holy Father will be speaking in Westminster Hall in three weeks' time and an invitation to this stands on our mantlepiece, all silvered embossed crest and elegant lettering. I said a quick prayer as I stood by the railings, and dropped a miraculous medal there.