Fifteen minutes to blog about seven vital years

Yesterday was a massive day, not least because of the logistics of organising 650 odd bishops and their spouses and sundry guests to London, whereby they would hold up traffic for half an hour and then be thanked for it by the Prime Minister.

It was an astonishing time, though, and cemented in me that understanding that this thing we call the Anglican Communion must survive. The world needs us to put our differences aside and, as Bishop Chickera said nearly two weeks ago, make our mission to be the voice of the voiceless our primary objective.

Anyway, enough preaching. You can read the articles at www.lambethconference.org.

I received an invitation to Buckingham Palace to have tea with the Queen, but I politely declined and instead went with David to the Tower of London where various queens were either beheaded or displayed disturbingly bloodthirsty tendencies. Sproggies, if you want to know if we got you what you wanted... you'll have to wait and see! (And for the non-sproggies, no it was not a pilfered royal head.)

We walked to the Tower the eighteen thousand miles (or so it felt) by the Thames, via a shoe shop so that I could buy a pair of thongs (or "flip flops" as we poms call them, har har) so that I could even up the blisters all over my feet. Now they are on the side, the bottom *and* the top. Jolly good.

I had to use the public conveniences, which patently aren't. Several miles apart and guarded by rabid dogs, they require you to pay for the privilege of not piddling your pants. Inflation has wreaked its damage - whereas my mother used to spend a penny, I was required to spend fifty of them.

Because I was crippled and had a headache from the very shouty Beefeater who took us around the Tower, we got a Real London Cab back to Charing Cross Station, with a Real London Cabbie who had a Real London Accent. He said things like "innit". It was very cool. He laughed a lot when we said something about Fenchurch St Station and he said, "Do you know it" and we both said together, "Only from Monopoly!"

I'm off to hear about how the world is going to hell in a very hot handbasket. Toodle pip.

(And tell daddy I think it's rubbish that I'm turning back into a pom. Nevah.)