Like a West London Pope rolled out for the Sunday blessing, I was today elevated to the priesthood. This wasn't because I wore a frock - I haven't done that since my first marriage in 1989 - but because my eldest Godson told his missis he was going to church in order to sneak out and brunch with me. She thinks he's on a diet, but after a full English breakfast with a huge beaker of fresh orange and a mocha, he finished off a large tortilla and a coke. He also managed a handful of fags - his full daily allowance - slipping outside to inhale vigorously as doing so indoors invites lynching by vegetarians. The waist on his 44" Gieves and Hawkes trousers appeared a tad loose, so the health regime is obviously working... Sadly we never got onto politics - we've literally gone nose to nose on occasion - but even the most mundane chat is elevated through his brilliance and passion. His mother, my best mate at school, would be so proud of him were she still alive:-( Yesterday the girls and I painted mugs in our local art shop. The eldest has smashed most of ours since she started emptying the dishwasher. "I feel very mellow and relaxed," the youngest said, trying out impressionist techniques to the sound of Otis Redding's Happy Song. Though chily outside, we were warmed by the sunshine that lit the room. Mellow yellow:-)