ON THE WAY home from the dry cleaners I was cut off by a demonstration. It turned out to be a procession of the Blessed Sacrament (not so long after the Eucharistic Congress in Liverpool), bound for Southwark from Westminster Cathedral. Not wishing to be trampled, I waited for it to pass and had a look at the people.

Some I recognised from Mass at the cathedral. A few were, not exactly eccentric or outcasts, but certainly odd. Some perhaps were unkempt, uncombed, soiled. Far more were ordinarily poor, in the trainers and fleeces that the clothing business decrees the unprosperous must wear. To my eye, the women of West Indian heritage displayed the best taste in clothing, in combining dresses, jackets and even hats.