We were sitting on Primrose Hill in the cold sunshine on Saturday afternoon, looking at the panorama of London spread out in front of us.
Cranes, cranes, cranes, and tall shiny silver buildings aggressively poking their fingers and thumbs at the sky, seeing how high they could go to pierce the atmosphere with their sharp capitalist harshness.
Hunkered down amongst them was St Paul's, a beautiful and spiritual building, and completely hidden away behind the invasion of glittering stalagmites was Southwark Cathedral, dwarfed by the monstrous and ferocious Shard which has been thrown up so close by.
Southwark Cathedral is where Chaucer's fictitious pilgrims started their journey in The Canterbury Tales, and it's where the Crisis carol service happens every year, and countless other community and worship activities happen. It was built for music and voices to sound good in, and for people to find peace in their hearts.
It's unbearable to even think about what has happened to Notre Dame Cathedral; all of that delicate architecture eaten by flames yesterday.
Are the bad people going to win?
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