The morning is spent on e-mails.  William has found a fantastic picture of the mushroom cloud for the 6.30pm service on August 3rd - but do tourists who come to Westminster Abbey for a quiet evening service really want to think about the horrors of Hiroshima and the mushroom cloud?  I remind William we have to make it clear that the Feast of the Transfiguration - Jesus seen in glory - is also the date on which the atomic bomb was dropped: August 6 1945.  I'm hoping a Japanese friend will do the Scripture readings.  

Lunch is two spuds (40p) - crispy, with melting spread and half a can of baked beans.  Delicious.  Then an orange cut into four quarters, half-time style (do they still do that for school matches?).

Post-prandial ziz, with Kim.  Today's 'orientalism': 'his Buddhist friend has levanted after taking my name and address.'   'Levant, vb, intr, colloq, from sb Levant, north east Mediterranean, Beirut etc; to levant: disappear, vanish in suspicious circumstances, behave in manner characteristic of natives of Levant.'

Wife and I levant to Alnmouth where there is an exhibition of paintings by John Fieldhouse.  At first they all look like sideways-on barcodes, hand-sploshed, in blues, purples and gold.  Examining them one-by-one (which is free) I begin to see how each is subtly different, like variations on a musical theme.   The one I like most (which would take three years to buy at £10 a week) has already been sold.  Doubtless shortly to levant elsewhere. 

Then to favourite bookshop: Barter Books at Alnwick, where coffee used to be 20p.   Alas, no longer: it's now an impossible 30p.  I am careful not to get emotionally involved with books at stratospheric prices, like £4.60.

For dinner, I finish the spag, I finish the tomato splodge, I finish the onion, I almost finish the spread.  I eat the penultimate orange. 

It's a long evening; I lose my blog (again). 

So, what have I learnt?  You can get by on £10 for a week if you have good friends who transport you round the place, let you use their phone and read their newspapers.  You eat lots of carbohydrate and a bit of fruit.  You don't eat protein (much), fresh veg, jam, or drink coffee or alcohol. You don't have to live off pilchards and biscuits.  When you're distracted it's fine; when you are on your own you struggle. I've had interest, friendship, activity, and the knowledge that this only lasts for a week to sustain me.   Blogging helps.  I'm not ill, frightened or traumatised.  I can't imagine how my friend survives week after gruelling week on a £15 food parcel.   The real cost of maintaining me this week (ninety-five per cent borne by others, of course) must have been well over a hundred pounds.  I've lots to digest.

Spent on food: £5.00  Extras: £4.22 (plus mad moment in Glasgow Cathedral, £2). 

'Blog: cf blag, vb, intr, colloq: to assume (unjustified) air of knowledge; talk at length about things of which you know little.'

End of blog.

From Queen Street Station I ask my way to St Mungo's Museum.  As I walk I think of Iona and its historic link with GlaSgow poverty.  [Reader, I'm having trouble with my lower case 's' - if I continue to have problems, I'll offer you an archaic 'f' inftead, or a capital 'S'.  I fuggeSt you take the capital.]   I think of Ian FraSer, who taught me what Liberation Theology waS before the term waS invented and of Geoff Shaw who lived in a two-roomed flat when he ran Strathclyde Council - and of the Silver Sand of Iona. 

I'm the first one there.  Jonathan and Hiratche arrive to set up.  Jaqueline from UNHCR (on-board observer) comes later.  Jonathan takes me through what the Scottish press are saying.  There's such a different feel here; they want to do the things we are calling for. They want to end 'dawn raids' and have virtually succeeded in doing so; they insist on an end to the detention of children; they are getting asylum seeking children and young people into Further and Higher Education (the numbers are small, but the Scots have always valued education); they want to close Dungavel Immigration Removal Centre ('that little bit of Scotland over which the Scottish Executive has no control' as the Minister pointedly puts it).  Linda Fabiani MSP has arrived early to be with us for the whole session.  It's not her portfolio, but she's interested, committed, and among friends.  She promises that the dialogue about implementing our recommendations in Scotland will go forward.  It becomes ever clearer that the Scots will run with what we have said (pointing out where they are ahead of us, as in the assigning of a 'lead professional' to all vulnerable families).   From this distance, England looks tawdry.  The star of the show is 18-year old Glaswegian, Amal Azzedin, who makes a storming speech in support of aylum seekers.  She'll go far.

Sitting at the table, I accept free water.  For lunch I eat my rolls.  

A quick look inside the Cathedral, which has a steady flow of visitors.  I note a Muslim family, Japanese and Italians.  Entry is free.  I'm impressed.  Without thinking I put the suggested £2 in the box.  But if I didn't have £2 it wouldn't have mattered. 

On the train to Edinburgh I sit opposite two girls.  One eats (unfragrant) chicken bap and chips, and doesn't offer a chip to her friend.  Is this by mutual agreement?  From Edinburgh to Berwick the menu for the seat opposite is chicken and ham sandwiches, spring onion crisps, two pork pies and a chocolate bar.  Does it cross his mind that I am hungry?  I drift off to sleep to be woken by phone ring fortissimo and my neighbour bawling 'Hello, Dad.  I'm in the Quiet Coach so I'm not supposed to be talking to you.'  My family would say I go looking for them.

Back at the ranch, I halve the remaining spaghetti.  I've learnt to fry up a third of an onion in spread (which seems to evaporate), to add black pepper and tomato splodge.  I'm careful not to overcook the spag, and notice I'm liberal with the salt, because the spag is bland.  Now, it's really tasty.  Then I eat an orange - which is so juicy it's a bit out of control, but in private I can cope with that.  Tea is sweetened with first-class sugar totted from National Express last Monday. 

I settle to think over the day, with my eyes closed.  Two hours later, I turn to Kim: 'All hours of the twenty-four are alike to Orientals', comments Kipling sagely.  Like Afro-Caribbeans I suppose - who generously take the night shift so the white man can sleep off the fatigue of his burden.  Kim and his lama join the River of Life on the Great Trunk Road (no borders - it makes you think).  They observe a meeting between father and son, who embrace 'as do father and son in the East'.   Like the parable of the prodigal.  The other side of Orientalism.

Spent so far on food: £4.79.  On extras, £3.46, with a mad moment in Glasgow Cathedral.

Morning spent fiddling with e-mails as there's lots I didn't get done before I came away.  There are 5 Zimbabweans in Haslar Detention Centre.  We know and they know they can't be deported.  One has been there two years.  I'm hoping we can get all five bailed at one go.  Then they'll be free, but probably destitute until the policy changes on permission to work.  There are also e-mails about tomorrow's Glasgow launch of Independent Asylum Commission recommendations.   The endurance challenge is my private celebration of same.  Good coverage in the papers already, I am told.

I'm struggling to tune into Kim (which I'm reading after reading Edward Said, whose Orientalism exposed the prejudice of the West towards the East).  But how salutary to look back to 1900: India is under the Raj.  Hindus, Moslems, Buddhists, Christians mix freely.  Kim meets his Tibetan Lama.  Afghans come and go.  Suddenly Kipling lets his Orientalism show: 'Kim', he says, 'could lie like an Oriental'. 

Steal a look at my wife's Guardian.  Doom-laden pre-Lambeth article.  We'll see.

Lunch: lightly toasted mature processed bread (5 days old) with a light melted covering of spread and roasted haricot beans in a rich tomato sauce.  Orange.  Tea.

After lunch, Kim sends me to sleep again.  

Then I hitch a lift with my wife to go down to the coast: our favourite bit of Bamburgh beach: Stag Rock.   Sunshine, fresh breeze and cloud.  The sea rolling in against the rocks.  Sheer well-being.  

By the time we are back I'm flagging, so I have the last two slices of my loaf (with spread) and then give myself a treat.  I buy a potato from my wife for 40p, we cut it into slivers, boil it, and then fry it in spread with an egg (10p) and I add half a can of beans (10p).  For desert I have an orange.  Total cost: 69p.  Worth it at double the price!

In the evening my briefing for tomorrow arrives.  I reckon I don't have to walk to Glasgow as my fare is refundable. 

Spent on food so far: £4.56 (but I have supplies).  Other expenditure: £3.26.  Mr Micawber would be proud of me. 

     .

Goodbyes at the Abbey are over, so I'm free to catch the 8am with my wife from King's Cross to Berwick-on-Tweed.  I know: I've got some explaining to do.  Our haven is a cottage south of Berwick.  My wife got a National Express freebe to go first class with a friend (me).  It costs me £1.50 on the underground, and nothing more.  Coffee feels like cheating, so I stick to tea (4 cups), two tangerines and two biscuits (kept for later).  I'm tired and I don't settle to anything.  We talk about food. 

On this journey I'm a kept man.  I hitch a lift with my wife to the cottage.  She hands me the money to pay the taxi-driver.  I've packed one packet of spaghetti, a third of a packet of bran flakes (still tasty), my tub of spread (in two plastic bags) and half a loaf of bread (better than none) - plus about fifteen books.  On arrival I buy a tin of baked beans from the cupboard for myself ('for you, sir, 20p'), save half and have the other half on toast.  No milk for tea, but fabulous water fresh from the village bore.  ('Just one minute of your time, sir, to go on and on and on about our fabulous free water ...'). 

I open Kipling's Kim, and fall asleep.

In the afternoon we go back to Berwick (wife will pay petrol) to stock up at the supermarket.  (Internal ethical policeman interrupts: 'the destitute don't run cars, and don't drive to supermarkets'.  'But, officer, there's rural poverty as well as urban.'  IEP: 'There's poverty and destitution.  I thought you were doing destitution.')  I reckon I've got about £2 to spend, and expect to land some bargains.  Aldi is a disapointment.  Everything is more pricey than Sainsbury's Basics.  We give up and go to Morrisons.  It takes a while to get my eye in but there are own-brand bargains, as good as Sainsbury's Basics. What's wrong is the packaging.  'Value' products look like Second World War leftovers and have 'poverty' written all over them.  'Bettabuy' look like luxury items from a 1980s Eastern Bloc Supermarket.  I'll find out what the food tastes like tomorrow.  High marks to Morrisons, though, for cheap fruit (7 oranges reduced to 49p) and cheap bread. 

I keep myself going with a free National Express biscuit and tea.

I re-blog after yesterday's blog-up; I take a glorious walk up to the lake behind the cottage and encounter a flock of sheep coming the other way - ready to be fleeced.  I blog till it's time to watch TV: highly recomended programme on the Qur'an.  Much of it is excellent - it brings out the variety of interpretation of the Qur'an and begins to ask text-critical questions.  For me, it marks a step-change in responsible (and interesting) reporting of Islam.  Big Brother follows.  Ethical destitution.

I eat spag late (10pm) and go to bed unhungry.

Spent on basic food so far: £3.96.  Other expenditure: £2.97

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.

[Sunday] Yesterday morning was Saturday.   Celebrated by lie-in till 8am.  Catch myself dreaming of coffee while shaving: real coffee; freshly ground real coffee; strong freshly ground real coffee; caffetiere thereof.   I've noticed I'm a two-teabag-in-a-mug man.  Tea is clearly the coffee junkie's methodone.  

Breakfast: bran flakes (with raisins - more than I expected - the packet says 'more flakes than fruit - still tasty.  Sainsbury's Basics are amazing: the packaging is not only simple - it's honest) and methodone-tea - two mugs.

Wind up my computer and off we go: I've time to skim the top layer off the In-box.  Mostly to do with yesterday.  Chase a brilliant photo of Parliament Square with a sea of red plackards, viewed from under the outstretched arm of Mandela.  Pity the photographer decapitated Big Ben: I wanted it for my book on Christian Tradition and the Practice of Justice to be published in November (Reader - please note. ... I know I have one reader because you told me, Chris, that you couldn't get your comment posted.  What I didn't tell you was that CAP promised to filter out the unprintable.  Klar?).  Google takes me to Harare and I find yesterday's demo was very fairly reported in at least one paper, with great picture (but no Mandela).

Off to Dean's Yard for opening of Choir School Fete.  Reckon I can spend 20p.   I'm not in for the tombola, the raffle or the auction.  So, no ethical dilemmas about winning champagne.   Settle to watch Morris dancing with borrowed baby.  I dance him up and down in time with the music and wave his dribble-blanket in time with the hankies till he begins to gurgle ominously and I think he's going to be seasick.  His smile never wavers: a true Brit.  I plonk him back on Granny's knee.  There's a falconry display - and a low-flying hawk - on a demo - lands on balloons, sinking ignominiously in a sea of pink and white - then is rescued and rewarded with a tasty gobbet of flesh.   The in-house newssheet carried the news of my week:  I thought it better to let them know that when I didn't spend I wasn't thinking. 'Bah! Humbug!' (though they might be when they read about me).   Several interesting conversations about the price of apples, Pimlico poverty and the location of Lidls.  Beer is waved under my nose to encourage me to stay the distance. 

Lunch is baked beans on toast (three slices) with spread, and a clementine: gobbets of orange flesh eaten one-by-one. 10p extra.

Jolly Stanford Magnificat at Evensong: 'He has put down the mighty from their seat ...'.   Find myself thinking 'Jolly good, I say' with the poet Charles Causley, and remembering the joy of Michael Mayne in the pulpit when he recited Causely's ballad of the hare getting away scot free and the hunter getting his cumuppance. 

Quick flip return trip to the Fete to touch base with choir school parent who runs Merchant-Gourmet.  He gives (ethical police please note) gives me four slices of sunblush tomatoes from Zimbabwe and an eggcup-sized container of cooked rice.  2000 people in Zimbabwe depend on him for income.   Last year he said he could barely carry on; this year it's worse.  What he tell me reminds me of what happens with un-smart sanctions.  Yesterday, China and Russia blocked smart sanctions at the UN.  I think of the 2000, and of the 25,000 who depend on Tesco's - who have just pulled out. 

I make my way - plastic container in hand - to the Zimbabwean High Commission to see how my friends are after yesterday.   From Westminster Abbey to the Strand I can't find a rubbish basket.  Rubbish is everywhere: job opportunities (for some) everywhere.   When I get there (they gather under the only tree on the Strand) I am welcomed and welcomed.  My hands are grasped: I must dance with them ('Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join the dance?'  Of course I will.)   I presume they are singing the Zimbabwean equivalent of the Marseilleise: 'Aux armes mes citoyens!  Formez vos bataillons!'  Not quite: it's 'Knock, knoock!  Let Jesus come into your heart.'  Still revolutionary stuff.

By the time I'm home I'm flagging - especially when I realise I've gone out without my key.  Rescued by daughter and retored by pasta, tomato and spread, with luscious red and green apple and methodone-tea.  Then a few bran-flakes for the raisins (very tasty).

In the evening I work on the 6.30pm Abbey service for August 3rd.  It will focus on the Feast of the Transfiguration (August 6) - the day when the atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima.

We'll finish with a favourite hymn:

There is God's garden stands the tree of wisdom

whose leaves hold forth the healing of the nations:

tree of all knowledge, tree of all compassion,

      tree of all beauty. ...

See how its branches reach to us in welcome;

hear what the voice says, 'Come to me, ye weary:

give me your sickness, give me all your sorrow:

      I will 'give blessing'. 

Spent on food so far: £3.11.  Other expenditure: 80p

It's Saint Benedict's day - a good day to think about the simple life.  Benedict's Rule is all about balance: prayer, study and manual work.  He tell his monks to welcome strangers 'as though they were Christ'.   Wouldn't it be wonderful if UKBA were told to do the same: building a safe, just, tolerant - and welcoming - society.  In the prayers at the eucharist we pray for an Amnesty Prisoner of Conscience who has been kept in solitary confinement for five years.  His crime: supporting democracy.

Breakfast is bran flakes, skimmed milk, and tea.

At 11.30 I go across to St Margaret's Church.  The Archbishop of York arrives to preach at 'Restore Zimbabwe'.  I remind him how we used to sit in theological seminars in Cambridge and he used to ask the hard questions head-on.  He's still doing it.  'What are we going to do about the thousands of Zimbabweans in this country who have been refused asylum and can't go home?'  They are destitute.  For years they have faced the endurance challenge, the torture challenge, the asylum challenge, the detention challenge, the destitution challenge, the bereavement challenge, the faith challenge.   'God bless Zimbabwe', they sing.  They sing and they march from the church to Parliament Square, and there the Archbishop voices their demand for the dignity of work, the re-skilling they need for the new Zimbabwe.  Nkosi, sikilela iZimbabwe!

Lunch is two slices of toast, spread, and tinned spaghetti.  I buy a tangerine from myself (kitchen supplies) at 10p to finish. 

Siesta, then I trudge through e-mails.  At Evensong the choir sings magical Tavener Magnificat: 'He has put down the mighty from their thrones... He has filled the hungry with good things.'  Mwari komberai Zimbabwe! 

Supper is pasta (chewy) with tomato sauce.  Give myself salt free.  Then I buy an apple from myself.  Charge myself another 10p. 

Difficult to know what I should charge myself for toiletries: toothpaste, shaving cream, razor, shower, shampoo, soap and loo paper.  If I make it more than 20p I'll never survive.  Decide I have to exclude cost of outgoing work telephone calls - the Abbey pays for them anyway.  So, at the end of day one I've spent £3.11 of my £5 on food, and 40p of my £5 cash. 

I'm not starving, but I'm hungry enough to miss a little something before bed.  'God bless Africa: guard her children; guide her rulers, and give her peace.' 

I'm on a return visit after the Independent Asylum Commission hearing in Cardiff eighteen months ago.  That was where I first realised how different attitudes are under the devolved administrations of Wales and Scotland: these people run their own hospitals and schools; asylum policy is made in England, and they don't like it.  I walk into the lecture hall the usual five minutes late.  On every seat there's a copy of our recommendations about support, Deserving Dignity.  How much has changed in the two years we've been at work?  Precious little (the negativities that pervade the whole asylum system) and a lot (New Asylum Model; Case Resolution Directorate; the IAC journey).  I talk to lots of wonderful people; there's an upbeat determination to work together and get things changed.

Doze my way back to London, quickly print off invaluable CAP advice about assembling a food parcel; shoot out to see Oh What a Lovely War! at Grey Coat Hospital where I'm a Governor.  It's fantastic, and everyone's buzzing as I come out and head for Tesco's.

Tesco's is useless: nothing at cheapo prices. 

I go to Sainsbury's.   Now I'm hunting out Basics.  It's central London and everything costs more than CAP prices.  Backwards and forwards, up and down.  Start with bread (37p); pick up jam - put down jam; pick up eggs - eggs go when I see the price of pasta -2 sorts, 38p, with pasta sauce (26p); beans are 20p; spaghetti - you have to ring the changes - 23p; spread (hope I can cook with that) 26p; shocked to find UHT milk comes in at 49p; splash out on fruit and fibre - 65p; 80 tea bags are only 31p.  What's gone? Coffee; sugar (cheapest 40p - am I allowed to pinch some from the coffee stall?); FRUIT - when did the price of apples go through the roof?  VEG - budget won't run to potatoes, or anything green.  Total spent: £3.11 - 61p over budget and missing some basics.

Still, I won't starve, though I may get constipated and spotty.  The thought hits me and leaves me with a kind of wonder.  I've just been to Sainsbury's and shopped for - can it really be less than 10% of what I might spend normally?  And I won't starve.  At this stage there's a real joy in getting down to basics.  Wonder how long that will last.  Savour a cup of coffee, and two tangerines.  Yes, savour ...

Still, it all fits.  Tomorrow I'm off to Swansea on the 6.45 (if floods haven't closed the line) for the launch of the last lot of recommendations from the Independent Asylum Commission - the ones about the real endurance test which goes on week after week for destitute asylum seekers.  We've worked for more than two years on the IAC.  Last night we had a party to celebrate the end of this phase of the work - we didn't know what to do with all the leftover food.

Will I be allowed to dig for out of date food in the bags outside Pret?