Running a live test

I am updating this by email from the North Cloister of Westminster Abbey (a delightful spot with a healthy draft and a fairtrade coffee offering to mitigate the chill of the stone seating.

It's good to know that the Abbey still resembles nothing so much as a national auction house, the bays are crammed hugger-mugger with beds, chairs, stacked portraits, chipped busts and broken vases, all in magically odd conjuction with each other. There is the same tender shock at recognising long dead affection in the portrait of a child, or a faded postcard from the front, lost in the back of a drawer. Poet's corner is, of course, the book section…