After that splendid Beltane Eve fire, last night plummeted like
a lead weight in an empty oil drum. I read something that left a nauseating
stench in my nose, which troubled my sleep and woke me early. It’s still there.
Nevertheless, just as was said of my illustrious predecessor, I
have no wish that blood should be spilt on the hallowed altar steps of
Canterbury Cathedral, nor even into the reeking flood of the Barcelona sewerage system. I just want the smell to go
away. Its source has already gone, but bad smells can be persistent.
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