5am start again, when my wife needs to inhale to clear her head.  Off she goes, promising to return with methodone-tea.  When she comes back she tells me she just dug out a picture we were given by an artist-friend when we got married.  We knew it was a rude joke for a wedding, but she has just seen an even ruder nuptial meaning (that's what comes of studying Art History).  We start to laugh uproariously - especially when we realise it has taken us thirty-four years to see the joke.  I suddenly have a vision of the world being full of unexploded jokes, lying around for people to get years later - a delicious eschatology of humour.  Every good joke is a taste of heaven; 'heaven lies about us' - but we can be a bit slow to get the joke.

Bran flakes for breakfast - again.

It's Sunday, and this week I'm not on till Morning Prayer at 10.  I spend an hour reconstructing yesterday's blog.  Nothing is as absorbing as writing - it's far better than reading.  I lose count of the time, and have to hurry to get myself to the church on time (wedding theme - gettit?).

It's the weekend before the Lambeth Conference which is going to confound gloomy predictions.  The Anglican Communion hasn't split or shattered or imploded.  GAFCONites say they want to stay in: I'm hopeful that a number will go to Lambeth and make their views known.  We have the Archbishop of the West Indies with us for the day.  I sit next to him for Morning Prayer.  He hums along with the responses, and we both join in 'Through all the changing scenes of life' with gusto. 'In trouble and in joy ...'.  At the eucharist` Archbishop Drexel preaches on the Parable of the Sower and then gives a masterly overview of the problems of the Anglican Communion.  He is one of the key players holding things together.  We have lots of Afro-Caribbeans in the congregation.  I think of William Wilberforce in tears as he heard that the vote on the abolition of the Slave Trade was won.  His body lies in the Abbey; saint that he was, could he ever have dreamt of a day like this?

Lunch in the garden with Choir School staff and parents.   I'm relieved I went public on the endurance challenge - otherwise my abstinence would seem pretty odd.   As it is, it sets up some interesting questions.  When the boys go to rehearse for Evensong I just have time to slip home for beans on toast (three slices), tea and an apple.  It's going well.

Evensong is the choir valediction.  They lift the roof with Parry's 'I was glad' - 'O pray for the peace of Jerusalem (Amen); Peace be within thy walls (Amen) and plenteousness within thy palaces (Amen - if there are palaces for all)'.  It strikes me that what we have in the UK is peace and plenteousness (and palaces).  I wonder if we've noticed.  Plenteousness - what a lovely word for generous, unstinting, overflowing abundance.  I try to notice. 

I have guests coming for a bring-and-share meal, so pop round to Tesco's.  I don't see why they should take my endurance challenge, so buy for them.  Plenteousness.  One of the guests is a destitute asylum-seeker.  She tells us of the fantastic work done by Jesuit Refugee Service, where she helps.   They are supporting over 100 destitute mothers and children.  I hear both JRS and Notre Dame Centre have had to cut back for lack of funds. 

In the evening another friend phones - another destitute asylum seeker.  She tells me she is getting through on a Red Cross voucher for £15 each week.  I can't imagine how she does it.

Dinner is ... pasta and tomato.  I am coached in the art of adding black pepper, oil, mixed herbs and onion (that'll be 5p).  It tastes delicious.

Money spent so far on food: £3.16   On extras: £1.20. 

I blog away cheerfully till after 11, press to save, and poof! - it's all gone.  When I try to reconnect with the CAP website what looks like a rude message comes up.  Is this some sort of unexploded joke?  If so, I don't get it.  I blog off to bed.