FT269

The long walk from the gates of Brompton Cemetery in west London to the chapel – 617m (over a third of a mile) – gives ample time for reflection. You’re surrounded by hundreds of splendid monuments, most of them Victorian, and many of them tilted as if the occup­ants of the graves beneath them had made a bid for freedom. Your thoughts start turning to the transience of life, the imminence of death.

But any sombre musings are dispelled by the ridiculous disjunction between the squirrels scampering over the tombs and scurrying up almost to your feet, and the crows as big as ravens stomping defiantly across the dead straight path in front of you.