After getting so lost yesterday, I decide that I will walk the 800 meters to the conference centre first thing—to be sure of getting there when we set out later. It isn’t straightforward to find the place, but I do. It’s next door to a seminary, and as I walk home by a different route I pass many young priests, all in black, some of them with flat caps, and most of them black. It gives me pleasure to see them scurrying towards their classes in theology—or perhaps it’s something much more practical, how to run a good funeral. Breakfast is served in a kind of garden on the fifth floor. I have a wonderful view across Rome, including of the Forum, the Altar of the Fatherland, and churches high on a hill. Small birds flit from table to table, picking up crumbs wherever they can. Deborah and I reach the conference centre, which is underground, soon after 9.30. Immediately I have to do videoed interviews. I am, I remember, rather good at this. I can prattle for any length of time, mostly, I…
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