Is there such a thing as a junkophobe? That’s me. I buy the same thing over and over because I keep throwing useful stuff away; I’m ruthless to the point of impracticality. I can’t tolerate anything old, broken, unlovely, unclean, or out of place. Then what is this old Cheese Doodles packet doing here?

I am to spend the weekend here in Wales with around 50 others. I travelled 5 hours to make a wish for peace; many have come much further than me, and some making a good part of the way on foot.

I’d put off visiting Scotland for over a year, even though York is inexcusably close, and even though a very kind open invitation stood since I moved north from Wales. That’s the trouble with open invitations, and things that are close: they hover just below the top of the list.

I was eighteen months old when advertisements came out for a major exhibition in London. The image on the station wall beguiled me: a gigantic burial mask, two wide eyes in frames of kohl, a gentle smile of gold and a collar of precious stones.

Seems this site has lain neglected for a whole year now, while I’ve been writing elsewhere. Rather than a tedious round-up or a list of more specific apologies, I thought I’d highlight a favourite event of the last twelve months: singing Sri Chinmoy’s music in Norway and Iceland, with Temple-Song-Hearts.

Alleluia: Qui timent Dominum “He healeth those that are broken in heart: and bindeth up their wounds.” This line shines from the page handed to me at the entrance of King’s College Chapel, part of a sung mass I am about to hear.

Last week I had the good fortune to be involved in breaking a Guinness Record: the world’s longest flower garland. The previous record was 1.6 miles in Tahiti. This was 2.15 miles: an unbroken circle of carnation blooms around Meadow Lake, Flushing Meadow, New York.

On July 28th, renowned Olympians, peace leaders, artists and musicians came together in London to celebrate the Olympic spirit of peace and universal friendship, by unveiling the “World Peace Dreamer” statue – a bronze sculpture of Sri Chinmoy holding an Olympic-style peace torch.

I still go at least twice a year to visit the place where Sri Chinmoy spent most of his time – once in April and once in August. Some things are naturally different since his passing in 2007, but some things are still the same.

Gulls called constantly in the Sussex seaside towns. The sun had a peculiar intensity, and the wind was always keen. In such a town there was a row of Victorian terraced houses. One had barely changed its interior during its life of a hundred years. It was rented by two sisters: my grandmother and an aunt.