SUNDAY

The Mass in the abbey church is superb. A perfect blend of English and sung Latin and then all too soon my visit is over and I am back in the train, listening to people on their mobile phones.

MONDAY

The Public Accounts Commission which I chair, in conversation with the Minister, decides to do the same job for the new Public Service Ombudsman as for the National Audit Office. A tiny piece of parliamentary history.

Today Solomon brings the Ark of the Covenant containing Moses’s tablets into the Temple. What if they had survived? No doubt being subjected to scientific testing which might prove embarrassing – can you tell the age of a stone and the writing on it?

TUESDAY

A red letter day. I am invited to the first Catholic sung vespers in the Chapel Royal at Hampton Court Palace in, I calculate, 458 years.

I sat in the choir stalls. Vincent Nichols looks superb in full golden cope and mitre. A cardinal leading the prayers, like a medieval picture.

I look up to the gallery and I imagine I can see Mary Tudor looking down. A glorious experience. Vespers commences with the traditional words: “O Lord open my lips…”

With these words, untold generations of monks have in the cold dark of the morning started their office with Matins.

ASH WEDNESDAY

I turn up at Mass at 1030 and the church is much fuller. I remember it is Ash Wednesday. Previously all attempts at fasting during Lent have failed because they have been a penance. But since going to Downside I have not drunk any wine. I feel better so I will keep going.

I return to the Cathedral at 5:30 to receive the ashes and to listen to Allegri’s Miserere, with the men’s choir behind the high altar and the boys’ choir high up in the gallery – in Heaven. Certainly heavenly voices proceeding down the gallery and the high altar end.

The reading from Joel 2:12-18 always draws one up: “Let your hearts be broken not your garments torn. Turn to the Lord your God again, for he is all good.”

THURSDAY – Our Lady of Lourdes

There is a statement from the Health Secretary on seven-day working and the doctors’ dispute. I ask why someone of my age should have a greater chance of dying.

FRIDAY

The engineer for the dog fence arrives in our Lincolnshire cottage. The idea is to try and prevent Monty escaping the garden and worrying the sheep.

I spend most of the day with the engineer and manage a quick visit to our local church to read Psalm 80.

SATURDAY

A quiet day in Lincolnshire. I read Psalm 81: “Sing for joy to God our strength, shout aloud to the God of Jacob.”