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.