Powerful Places

I’m outside Lambeth Palace, loitering; there's no other word for it, without tent, but I'm loitering nonetheless. A security guard comes out to ask me my business. Gee, I think, talk about suspicious... Until I remember that I am wearing a very large backpack, I haven't shaved and I'm wearing sunglasses. Ok, so in these post-date times, fair point. He searches me, including my half finished box of Ned's Noodles, and asks me why I'm here. I say I'm not sure, but I think I might be meeting a theologian to discuss the possibility of becoming a stand up apologist, and apparently the only place he can meet is in the Archbishop of Canterbury's living room. His wife is making us tea. The guard radio's for help, and much to my surprise, my story is confirmed and I find myself walking into the palace. I'm given some hazy directions and follow them past countless offices, gates and doors, past the Archbishop himself greeting one of the many dignitries that must frequent here, up the stairs, past a hamster spinning on a wheel, past photographs of family holidays and lengthy cricket matches, past scrawly drawings of the bearded wise one done by schoolchildren in South-East London, and into a sitting room, much like any other. I sit quietly and try to pretend this could happen to anyone.